Copyright 1999

Chapter 1

The phone rang at least six times, as Tom dashed down the hallway of the headquarters building. He answered it just as that irritating bell rang yet again, to learn that the caller was none other than Lieutenant General Harrison. He assumed that the call must be for his commanding officer, Colonel Greg Wilson, so it came as a big surprise when the general began, "Tom? General Harrison here. Can you drop by my office this afternoon, say around 3:00 o'clock? It's important and I need your help."

"Thanks, Tom. I'll tell my secretary to bring you right in when you get here."

After he hung up, with a deeply puzzled look on his face, Tom wondered why in the heck the general wanted him. What could he possibly want from a lieutenant colonel navigator type? Did Colonel Wilson know about this? Tom knew, of course, that General Harrison was the commander of all tactical reconnaissance forces in Air Combat Command (ACC). What in the heck does he want?

At five minutes to three, Tom stood before the desk of Lucy Addams, the general's secretary. The clean, no-nonsense and definitely unpretentious look of the office appeared modest, belying the importance of what went on there. The only signs of power and prestige were a simple blue flag with three silver stars, standing off to one corner, and a large framed logo declaring that this was part of Air Combat Command (ACC).

"Good afternoon, Colonel. He's expecting you," she said, immediately rising to escort Tom to the private office. Lucy, a trim and well-groomed lady about 45 years old, was clearly a competent, attractive and pleasant secretary. Her desk was neat and that reflected her efficient, well-organized manner.

"Come on in, Tom," greeted the general, standing beside his desk. Harrison stood six feet four and even with a few added pounds carried himself like the football tackle he once was. "Here, have a seat," he continued, while removing some papers from the leather chair. His domain was quite in contrast to Lucy's neat outer office, reflecting a very busy man not greatly concerned with appearances. The general's necktie was loosened. His coat hung on a tree in the corner, its command pilot wings and at least ten rows of ribbons and awards reflected his successful career, in and out of the cockpit.

Tom stood at attention and saluted smartly. "Oh just have a seat, Tom. The returning salute seemed like just of a wave of his hand. We've got business to take care of. I'm not one for formalities. Sit."

Though he didn't show it, Tom was always a bit bemused by this contradictory flag officer. That slightly rumpled and casual-appearing leader was at once disarming, congenial and friendly, but all the same no one to trifle with or antagonize. Harrison stood well over six feet, while Tom, barely five-foot nine and of thin build still looked as fit and trim as he did as an aviation cadet, some 20 years ago. Tom admired the general as a sharp thinker and thoughtful man. He was also known to have a short fuse, especially with incompetents or slaggards.

"What can I do for you, General?"

"Plenty, my boy, plenty. Ever hear of the 288th TAC Recon Squadron?"

"Only as a listing on organizational charts. That's all."

"Well, the 288th, better known today as the 'two, double eight balls' is a really screwed-up outfit. They have the lowest performance and the worst flying safety record in the command. Just yesterday they flunked their no-notice inspection and even managed to ding the wingtip on one of their aircraft. Did you hear that one guy almost tried to take off in his RF-4 with the wings still folded? That's the fourth minor accident in two months. Fortunately, they haven't killed anybody, yet."

"Now I remember that squadron, General. They were in the Vietnam theater when I was in the 460th TAC Recon Wing down at Saigon. Weren't they up at Udorn, in northern Thailand?"

"Yup. That the one. And back during the Vietnam operation, they were a 'cracker-jack' outfit. But recently they've become a collection of eight balls and screw ups. I've fired two squadron commanders who couldn't figure out what the problems are and shape 'em up. It must be me, for I thought I'd made the right choices. They just didn't work out and I don't know why."

"Sounds bad, sir. But what can I do for you?"

"I want you do go down there, fly with them and assess their operation from stem to stern. Excuse the Navy term, but I need an independent evaluation. If I sent a pilot, especially a senior lieutenant colonel, the guys would think he was just another of the revolving door commanders they've been through. But a navigator, like you, would not readily threaten the 'old boy' pilots' club of misfits. You'd get a look at what's really going on."

"Wouldn't a lieutenant colonel navigator seem odd, sir? As I remember my days in TAC recon, most navs were lieutenants and captains, with just a few majors. Won't I stick out like an sore thumb?"

"Yeah. I thought of that, but with your background in Strategic Air Command (SAC), as a flight crew member, instructor and flight examiner, and more recently in simulators, you understand what 'by the book' is all about. Those guys don't. I'll tell 'em that you're coming down to run their flight simulator group, as well as evaluating navigators. I won't tell them that you're my eyes and ears into every aspect of operations."

"My currency in the RF-4C's has expired, General. I'll need to get a re-check and certification down there," Tom said with a keen sense of delight and anticipation to be back in Phantoms.

"Precisely, Tom. And their flight check and certification process needs evaluation too. With your experience and combat record, plus your SAC background, you're fully qualified to judge what they are doing. They'll never expect a newly assigned navigator to be evaluating them. It's still a pilot's Air Force, as you well know."

"That I do, General. Just how long will this assignment be?"

"It might be six months or it could be permanent. I'll level with you, Tom. I'm giving considerable thought to a revolutionary change here. You could well be the first navigator to command tactical squadron, a fighter outfit at that. Show me you can get to the bottom of what's wrong and give me a plan for fixing things. Sure as hell the last two guys, both experienced pilots, couldn't fix it. Maybe you can. At this point I'm willing to try anything."

The general shoved a piece of paper at Tom. It was the roster of the 288th, showing that the current commanding officer was a Lieutenant Colonel Rex Bradley. His operations officer was Lieutenant Colonel Bill Smith. Four majors, all pilots, served as flight commanders and there were 32 two-man flight crews. On the maintenance side a Lieutenant Colonel Simmons was in charge of 120 officers, NCO's and enlisted troops tasked with keeping the airplanes flying.

"Best man in the outfit now is Nate Simmons, Tom. He's done wonders keeping those airplanes operational, despite what the crews have done to bend them up. I considered putting Simmons in charge, but he's non-rated and has no flight experience. He's a good man and one you should get to know. He and his NCO's can give you insight into what's going on. Bill Smith is a weak sister, a totally ineffective Operations Officer and I don't know why. He's a good pilot, but not much of a leader."

"How do you want me to report to you, General? And where does the base commander down there fit into all of this?"

"Well, sure as hell not in writing. I don't want your position compromised by their accidentally seeing one of your reports. You call me here directly, and you can call me at home too. As for the base commander down there, well, he's a good guy, but he's never flown in a combat reconnaissance squadron and I don't know if he could really find out what's happening. I don't have the luxury of time to get him up on the learning curve." The general leaned over to buzz Lucy. In seconds she opened the door and Harrison motioned for her to come in.

"Lucy. This is Lieutenant Colonel Tom Anderson. He's going on special assignment for me and I want him to be able to reach me at any time. Give him a note, will you please, listing all these office numbers and my home numbers. If you get any messages from him, treat 'em as top priority. I'm sending him down to the 288th as head of the simulator group. Get some orders cut with a reporting date in two weeks." Turning to Tom, Harrison asked, "Two weeks too soon, Tom? Can you be in place by then? Time is important here."

"Yes, sir. I'll be there, but what about my current duties? I'm up to my eyeballs organizing the new simulator training program for the 67th squadron. Colonel Wilson will not be happy about this."

"No problem. Lucy, get me Greg Wilson on the horn. I'll tell him that I'm sending Tom here on a high priority temporary duty job."

"Yes, General. I'll get right on it. I'll have Colonel Wilson for you on line two in a few seconds." Lucy turned and headed for the door, closing it behind her.

"Tom, if you can tell me how to fix this mess, I'm dead serious about considering you as the new commander of the 288th. We gotta turn that 'two double eight ball' outfit into the 'Fighting 288th'. You get my drift?"

"Oh yes, sir. And I expect we'll have a revolt on our hands if that ever transpires. I find it hard to believe that a group of misfit pilots will take kindly to a non-pilot becoming their boss."

"Yeah, maybe. But we'll cross that bridge, together, when and if it comes to that. Just go down there and figure out what in the hell is wrong, and show me how to fix it. Okay?"

"Will do, General. Will do."

"Good. I knew I could count on you. Keep me posted. I'll expect telephone reports at least weekly, and don't pull any punches. Tell me exactly what you see and think. Since I can't go down there myself, you're the one I'm counting on." General Harrison got up from behind his desk and reached across to shake Tom's hand, firmly and confidently. He knew that Tom was the right man for this difficult job.

Tom headed down the hall toward the front door of the headquarters building, just missing Colonel Kelly, headed for the general's office. John Kelly was Chief of F/RF-4 Training and reported to General Harrison on a variety of matters. Kelly was an unusual kind of headquarters type. He came from Strategic Air Command (SAC) with many years in B-52's. After schooling in the War College and a tour in Viet Nam in F-4's, he moved over to General Harrison's staff.

"Is he in, Lucy?" asked Kelly, in his deep baritone voice, which Lucy love to hear. She often thought Kelly should have been a radio announcer.

"Yes, Colonel. I'll check to see if he's free. One moment, please."

Through the open door to the general's office came the quick shouted response "Come on in, John. You're just the one I want to see." Lucy shrugged her shoulders and motioned for the colonel on in. "I thought that was your voice. Sit down, John. I just met with Tom Anderson. You were right. He's just the fellow to ferret out the problems with the 288th and give me some specific options on what to do with that unit."

"I thought you'd agree with me, General. I flew with Tom in 52's back in SAC and knew early on that he was a 'can do' kind of guy. He's bright, energetic and wholly dedicated to the Air Force. Too bad he's wearing navigator's wings and is not a command pilot. His eyeballs couldn't pass the strict requirements for pilot training back when he was a lieutenant."

"Yeah, and that's another irony. Now we've got pilots in the cockpit wearing eyeglasses, yet guys like Tom couldn't get past those medics. Still, even with his glasses he probably sees as well as we do. Go figure."

"What marching orders did you give him, General?"

"Just what we talked about. I told him to look at everything going on in the 288th, from one end to the other, and to report to me directly. I thought about contacting Colonel Mark Evans, Base Commander down at Simpson, but decided I didn't need another layer of intermediaries to get the information I need or have the time for him to get up to speed on tactical reconnaissance. Tom reports directly to me on this. His assignment is hush-hush, so not a word about it to anybody. Got that?" John saluted and confirmed that he understood the confidential nature of the work Tom was about to undertake.

Chapter 2

"Jenny, you'll never guess what happened to me this afternoon," Tom began on getting home just before 6:00 o'clock. Jenny, Tom's bride of just five years, a working gal with a good job as an actuarial analyst for Tidewater Insurance Company, politely looked up from her preparations for supper. Her short auburn hair and trim figure evidenced a no nonsense professional. Tom was attracted to her keen mind, sense of humor and ability to handle herself somewhat independently, definite requirements for an Air Force wife.

"What's that, Hon?"

"General Harrison called and told me that I've got to go on temporary duty (TDY) to South Carolina. Gotta be at Simpson Air Force Base in two weeks to set up a new simulator system." Tom purposely avoided mentioning the real reason for his assignment, knowing that Jenny might mention it to her friends. It could well become common knowledge and that might compromise his special task.

"For how long?"

"Could be as long as six months. You want to come along?"

"Now's not a good time, Tom. Work is really piling up and my boss needs me. Can't you get hops up here for weekends?"

"I doubt it, but I'll certainly try. If this goes beyond six months though, I'd expect you to come down. More than six months will mean a PCS (permanent change of station)."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Supper in ten minutes, so set the table, will you? At least we don't have kids to yank out of school."

"Yeah, sure."

Over dinner they talked about a variety of things, including the new simulator system at Simpson AFB. Tom explained that the simulator installed down there was the newest and best in the Air Force for F-4's and RF-4's. It had a dynamic moving visual display that made things seem realistic. Crews could 'fly' missions in the simulator just as they might in the airplane itself. It even had motion and two-axis tilt capabilities that used hydraulic rams to impart pitch and roll effects.

Finally, Tom shut up long enough for Jenny to tell him about her day and the project that was so important to her. She explained that new computers and actuarial software recently installed demanded that she be there to get things working. She said that Tidewater Life was counting on her and that made her feel important and needed. Tom was proud of her and her career accomplishments. He felt a little guilty about asking her to move, if it came to that, but she agreed when they got married that his career came first. She could find interesting work almost any place, with her degree in mathematics and considerable experience.

The next morning Tom got a call from Colonel Kelly. "Hey, Tom. Word's out that you're going TDY to Simpson. Is that true?" Kelly knew darn well it was.

"Yes, John. Gotta go down there on some simulator upgrade project. Will be gone six months or so. Who told you about it?"

"Oh, just the grape vine. You gonna get re-qualified in the RF-4 while you're down there?"

"Probably, if I can convince 'em that I need to be current again, it'll make my simulator work more effective. I'm looking forward to it."

"Good luck, my friend. I have a feeling you're going to need it."

"Why do you say that, John?"

"Well, the 288th is not exactly the premier recon outfit in the Air Force. I'll send them a message instructing them to get you recurrent. Stay on your toes."

"Will do. Thanks for the call." Tom hung up and wondered what that was all about. He knew that his old B-52 friend was now in the headquarters, but they hadn't had much contact since Tom arrived a year ago in the 67th. In fact, this was only the second time they'd talked at all.

Tom and Jenny spent as much time together as possible over the few days before his TDY. Though they worked in entirely different jobs, they were very close and interested in each other's work. He was just a little disappointed that children were not high on her priority list, but accepted that before the decided to get married.

By the 15th of March, Tom managed to complete what needed doing to leave Langley AFB for South Carolina. He even managed to spend an afternoon with representatives of the company that built the simulators down at Simpson. They gave him a complete run-down on the newest features and a set of manuals to study. He agreed to hand-carry some preliminary digital tapes to be loaded as part of an upgrade. Tom was greatly impressed with the capabilities of the system. That got him to wondering how the 288th could be so plagued with problems when they had the finest tool for training and evaluation of crew performance.

Both Tom and Jenny left the house at the same time that last morning, Jenny for her office and Tom to start his nine-hour drive south. "I'll call you when I get there, sweetheart. I've got a room reserved in the Visiting Officers' Quarters (VOQ)."

Jenny gave Tom a big kiss and turned toward her car parked behind his. As she opened the door, she called out "Hey. Don't forget to say hello to Jeff and Carolyn Andrews. I just remembered that they're down at Simpson."

"Will do. Might even get to see 'em this next weekend. 'Bye, Love."

"Drive carefully," she added.

Tom's drive down through Virginia and the Carolinas went smoothly. He got to Simpson AFB shortly after 9:00 PM. His Langley AFB sticker gained him ready access to the base, and he went straight for the VOQ. He was tired after 12 hours behind the wheel, not counting the gas and pit stops. His accommodations in the VOQ were Spartan but acceptable, at least for a few months. The VOQ was one of the few remaining WWII structures on base not replaced by modern accommodations. Home it wasn't.

After breakfast in the Officers' Club the next morning, Tom headed for the headquarters of the 288th TAC Recon Squadron to check in. He was a bit disappointed to notice how shabby and even dirty the offices looked. This was hardly a military appearance, he thought as he followed a sergeant down the hall toward Lieutenant Colonel Bradley's office. The bulletin board just passed was a jumble of thumb-tacked messages and official notices, yet the Daily Bulletin was two weeks old. The newest thing he saw was a personal advertisement by some lieutenant trying to sell four puppies.

Bradley, in his flight suit, sat behind his desk drinking coffee. A smoldering cigar in the ashtray raised a cloud of smoke nearly filling the room. The dark-paneled walls were adorned with pictures of airplanes, a number of unit patches tacked haphazardly between the photographs, and a framed certificate showing he'd earned the Silver Star medal.

"Colonel, this it Lieutenant Colonel Anderson," announced the sergeant. "Here is a copy of his orders. I guess I forgot to tell you that he'd be reporting today, sir."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't sweat it, Sarge. I see that he's here. C'mon in Anderson. Have a seat. What is it you were sent down here to do?" The sergeant left and shuffled back down the hall to his desk by the front door.

"I'm supposed to manage the simulator, sir. And I brought the software upgrades to be installed. That'll let your crews practice with the radar warning receivers recently added. And Air Combat Command felt that I should get re-current in the airplane ASAP too, so I can get the feel of things again. I was last current in RF's for just a year following my tour in Nam."

"Is that right? Well, who in the hell in headquarters told you to get re-current? I've got all I can do with the few airplanes in commission now to keep my crews current. Those bastards in maintenance are so far behind in fixing the birds, I don't know if I can keep my guys in the air, much less some damned simulator guy."

"Colonel Kelly told me before I left."

"Kelly? That weenie in training?"

"Yes. He's Chief of Training for all F and RF-4's now."

"Yeah. I know who he is. But, he's so damn far away from the flight line these days, he doesn't know what I have to put up with. And now he expects me to get you flying time that I can barely give my own boys. Shit."

Tom spent another 20 minutes with Bradley. When Lieutenant Colonel Smith passed by the opened office door, Bradley shouted at him to come in and meet Tom. "Bill. This here is Tom Anderson. He's been sent down here to run the simulator group. I've got a 10:00 o'clock flight, so why don't you show him around and point him toward the simulator building. Catch you later, Tom."

Lieutenant Colonel Bill Smith seemed like a friendly enough guy to Tom, but he was clearly intimidated by Bradley. Bill's quiet demeanor masked his frustration and anger at having to work for Bradley, a guy for whom he had no respect at all. Bradley was the commanding officer of the 288th, but had no prior experience as an operations officer or even flight leader. He got his job strictly because he'd flown 200 missions in Vietnam and earned a Silver Star, when his F-4 got hit up near the Demilitarized Zone.

Tom knew that some guys in Nam got Silver Stars because they intentionally went into areas they knew would draw fire and they might get hit. "Cruising for a Star" was widely known to happen. And getting a DFC (Distinguished Flying Cross) was as common as getting to complete a hundred missions. Some said that it was just part of the out-processing exercise before rotation back home. "Grab yourself a DFC and all the Air Medals you can scoop in one hand. That'll show you completed your Nam tour," said some of the more cynical troops.

Smith showed Tom around the squadron area, taking him through the mission planning room, the large theater-like briefing room, several offices and the lounge area with its coffee bar. The talked about the unit's recent inspection and how low morale was because of the failure to meet even minimal requirements. Tom got the impression that Smith was not the kind of strong leader needed to be Operations Officer, to run day to day flight activities, crew training and the necessary administration required to satisfy headquarters. Smith seemed worn out and tired. That reflected in his weary appearance and lack of spirit in his step or actions.

On his way over to the simulator building, pointed to by the sergeant he met initially, Tom detoured over to the maintenance section to meet Lt. Col. Simmons. He noticed immediately the differences between the operations and maintenance units. Here offices were clean, freshly painted and brightly lit, with no burned out light bulbs in the corridors. Tom noted with amusement that their bulletin board was current and uncluttered. A three-stripe enlisted clerk greeted Tom on his arrival.

"Is Colonel Simmons available?" Tom asked. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him you are here." Soon a slightly built, crew-cut gray-haired man came down the hall to greet his visitor. Tom already knew that Simmons was a well-educated fellow, with two masters degrees. He was a trained engineer with a passion for history and philosophy, quite unusual for a maintenance officer.

"What can I do for you, Colonel?" he asked in a friendly way, hand extended.

"A mutual acquaintance at headquarters suggested that I stop by and get to know you. You know General Harrison, don't you?" Simmons laughed and motioned Tom to follow him to a small office down the corridor.

"Yes indeed. I know the general. He was my boss back when I was a lieutenant just getting into the maintenance business. That was in F-86's. He was just a major then and one helluva smart guy, but as down to earth as they come. How is he?"

"He's just fine. We chatted just a couple of weeks ago. That's when he decided to send me down here to upgrade the flight simulator and help the 288th improve training."

"Well great. Glad to hear he's doing so well. I always said that one day he'd be wearing stars."

"He's got three of 'em, but I guess you knew that."

"No .. really? Last I heard he just got his second one. What's his job?"

"He's in charge of all tactical reconnaissance."

"Well, I'll be." Simmons paused to think a few seconds and then asked, "Want some coffee, Colonel?"

"Make that Tom, and yes, please, I would."

"Follow me, there's coffee in the assembly room down the hall. Mine's Nate. So, Tom, how long are you going to be here with us?"

"Maybe as long as six months, depending on how the simulator work goes."

"Yeah, they sure are spending the bucks on flight simulators these days. Supposed to be more economical than burning up jet fuel, I guess. Don't know a lot about those gadgets. What can I do for you? You got a place to stay?"

"Oh sure. I'm in the VOQ. That'll be just fine. If my TDY gets extended I'll look for something nicer, but it's okay for now. I did want to ask you about some scuttle-butt going around headquarters. Maybe from a maintenance perspective you can explain why the 288th isn't doing very well."

"Hmmmm. Not surprised to learn that headquarters doesn't think much of this outfit. I have to admit that I don't either." "Word is that the 288th is the worst in flight safety and they flunked their last inspection. I heard that they 'hit' only 50% of their photo targets."

"Yeah, that's what I hear too. I don't get to talk much with the operations types. Got my hands full just fixing up the airplanes they keep breaking. I've got some really great troops and they bust their butts keeping the outfit flying. My NCO's are the best in the Air Force."

"So what do you think the problem is?"

"In a word, leadership, or the lack of it. We've gone through a bunch of commanders who are good pilots but don't know squat about leadership or management."

"Including the current ones?"

"Yup a bring your cup back to my office and I'll tell you about it."

"If you get a chance, Nate, come on by the simulator some day and I'll let you fly it. Have you been up in the airplane?"

"Naw .. never had time. And besides, I'd probably get airsick."

"Well, if you decide you want to try the simulator, give me a call." Tom got up to leave and reached to shake Nate's hand.

"I just had an idea, Tom. They've keep a couple of the base housing units set aside as VIP guest quarters. How'd you like to bunk in there instead of the VOQ? Those houses are fully furnished. I know the Housing Officer and he can fix you up. Interested?"

"Thanks, Nate. I just might take you up on that, if my TDY looks like it'll get extended. Later, okay?"

Chapter 3

A brand new, green painted, two-story cinder block building across the road from the flight line proudly displayed a sign declaring the 288th Flight Simulator Facility. There were no windows, except along the west side, where administrative offices and two classrooms were placed. Tom walked in and was quickly greeted by a master sergeant.

"May I help you, Colonel?"

"Yes, Sarge. I'm here to help you fellows upgrade the simulator. The name's Anderson."

"Yes, sir. Mighty glad to see you. I got a call the other day from Colonel Kelly in headquarters. He said you'd be coming. Follow me and I'll show you to your office."

"How about a quick tour first? I anxious to see ACC's finest simulator."

"Yes, sir, and we're might proud of it. Too bad the C.O. doesn't like it."

"Oh? How's that?"

"We haven't had a C.O. in some time who thinks simulators are useful. They run some of the new guys through it, briefly, just to learn where switches and controls are, but don't believe in it for procedures training or emergency drills. They don't listen when we tell them that crews can 'fly' complete missions in the 'box'. Damn shame too, 'cause the taxpayers have spent a bundle on this system."

Tom followed the sergeant into the main bay of that huge building. There sat a replica of the front end of an F-4, mounted atop a huge platform. Large pistons held the cockpit close to a curved projection screen, wrapped in a 200-degree arc. The system sat lifeless and quiet this morning. Two technicians worked on some opened panels off to one side.

"Is it functional now? I see those two guys working over there."

"Yes, sir. They're just performing routine systems checks. She's up and running, just as soon as we get a crew in here to fly her."

"How many hours a day is it busy?"

"Barely four. We schedule crews in here but they don't come. I'm convinced it's because the C.O. doesn't push 'em."

Tom noticed the name tag on Sergeant Gray's uniform and responded, "Well, that's got to change. You've got a tremendous asset here that deserves the fullest utilization. Maybe we can do something about this, Sergeant Gray. Just maybe." They walked around the simulator and finally Tom climbed the steps up to the cockpit area. He looked over the instructor's console and then peered into the back seat. That brought back a rush of memories from his days flying in combat as a back-seater.

"Climb in, sir. Get the feel of it."

"You don't know the half of it, Sarge. I'm already feeling like I'm back in the saddle. I flew 175 missions in the RF back in Nam. It's kinda like a walk back in time."

"Tell you what, sir. I'll get in front and fly it for you. You see if you can remember what it's like. There's a checklist over on the left console." Then Sergeant Gray turned to the back of the platform and shouted at the two technicians.

"Jones. C'mon up here and crank her up. I'm going to give the colonel a short ride."

In seconds a staff sergeant came up onto the platform and began flipping switches on the instructor's console. He leaned over to Tom and handed him a headset, while Gray, up front, donned a flight helmet.

"You ready, sir?" Gray called over the interphone.

"Ready. Just give me a minute to run through the checklist here."

Soon the two were set to go and the projection screen in front of them lit up with a representation of an airfield and surrounding terrain. As Gray started the 'engines', a low roar and the simulated whine of two J-79's engines made it seem real.

"Ready to roll back there?"

In seconds the images on the projection screen moved, creating the sensation of acceleration down the runway. When Gray pulled back on the stick, the simulator pitched upward, just as the airplane would do on lift off. Each motion of the controls caused a movement of the scenery, exactly like things would look in a real airplane. And the cockpit itself moved up and down, banked left and right, as well.

"There's a flight chart up to the right of your instrument panel, sir. We'll fly the route marked to a pinpoint target and then fly down low for a simulated photo run along a highway. Got it?"

"Yeah. Got it. Boy, this brings back memories. It's like I never left these birds."

In a short while, Tom was passing along new headings to fly and advising his 'pilot' of time to go for the first photo run. Then the simulator pitched nose down as descent for a low level run approached. Tom placed his radar crosshairs on an image of a small river bend and advised his pilot to level off at 800 feet. "Take a heading of 120 degrees to the start point," he advised. "Cameras on in ten seconds."

For about a half hour they 'flew' the mission, designated Profile #16 on the flight chart. Then Gray 'flew' a tight 360 overhead pattern to bring the simulator around for a landing. Even the squeal of tires scuffing on a concrete runway was included in the wholly realistic flight. It ended when the simulator taxied into a parking spot on a ramp.

"Very impressive, Sarge. And you fly better'n some pilots I flew with back in Nam."

"It's this simulator, sir. It's so realistic that I could teach anybody to fly it. And if they don't get something right, I can freeze it and do it over again."

"So tell me again why it is that the C.O. doesn't believe in simulators?"

"I don't know their real reasons, sir. But, they tell me that it's not truly like the airplane. They claim it doesn't feel right."

"Uh huh. Maybe that's what they say, but I'll bet it's because simulator time isn't log-able like actual flight time. It doesn't show on their log books. Maybe it's because time spent in the 'box' doesn't add up hours toward their senior pilot wings or command pilot wings."

"Yes, sir. Or maybe it's because they don't want anybody looking over their shoulders pointing out mistakes, or suggesting better ways to do things. Pilots are proud critters who don't want anybody second-guessing their performance. And they sure as hell don't like it from NCO's like me."

Sergeant Gray completed the tour of the facility. Then, at Tom's office they paused. "Let me get something for you, here in my briefcase. It's a magnetic tape with the newest program upgrade for the simulator. The manufacturer gave it to me last week. Get your guys to install this and it'll activate the radar warning elements of the system. And here, this stack of papers tells you how to modify the instructor's console to implement switch changes needed."

Gray took the tape and headed down the hall. Tom grabbed the telephone and called LTC Bill Smith, the Operations Officer.

"Bill? Tom Anderson. I wonder if I could get together with you this afternoon to talk about my re-currency training?"

"Yeah, sure. Any time, but you ought to know that the C.O. isn't at all keen about it."

"So he told me. Too bad. It's not my decision. Colonel Kelly at headquarters has directed it. But you know, we could do most of it in the simulator. All I need is an instructor navigator for the first part. As for flying the simulator, well we could use Sergeant Gray. He's damn good, you know."

"Okay. We'll talk details when you come over after lunch. I'm sure I can scrape up an available instructor. We'll lay out the plan then."

Later on, Tom walked down the hall to find Sergeant Gray. He and the two technicians were out in the main simulator bay, already installing the program upgrades.

"How's it going, Sarge?"

"Like clockwork, sir. We'll have the new features ready to go today, probably this afternoon."

"Good. What I really wanted was to know where your training and crew upgrade guidelines are. I've got to get started on getting my re-currency check in the airplane."

"Er .. that's a problem, sir. The operations folks haven't really documented those requirements or established standard guidelines. The best I can do for you is get a flight handbook and the emergency procedures test."

Tom thought a few seconds before responding. He was dismayed, but not wholly surprised at Gray's words. "Well, surely we have copies of the regulations and headquarters-directed requirements, don't we?"

"Not exactly. The C.O. decided that we could tailor those a bit to fit the way he wants to do things. And he hasn't published the local versions yet."

Just before noon, a flight crew came into the simulator facility for a ride in the box. They weren't scheduled or anything, but the pilot, a Captain Fox and his back-seater, Lieutenant Carr, wanted to get some practice. Sergeant Gray told them to come back after lunch. Since there was nobody scheduled that morning, he used the time to perform the radar warning system upgrade. That news interested the lieutenant, who asked,

"You mean you can simulate enemy radar threats now?"

"Yes, sir. We'll be able to throw surface to air missile and fighter simulations at you guys. You'll be able to 'fly' combat missions for sure, once we get the upgrade done."

Tom noticed the two crewmen, as they headed down the hall toward the main entry door.

"Say, fellows. You got a minute?"

"Yes, Colonel. Sure. What can we do for you?"

"I'd like to know your opinions of the simulator and find out how to get more practical use of it. You have any ideas or comments?"

"You're asking us, sir? We're just a new crew here."

"Then you're exactly who I want to talk with. C'mon in here to this classroom." The three sat around a small work table in the classroom. After the introductions and casual pleasantries were done, Tom started asking a series of questions about their experience in the 'box' and opinions of it.

It wasn't exactly what those two said, but the way they said it that cause Tom to conclude that crews who wanted simulator time were ridiculed by others. This pair hinted that they were criticized by some of their peers for wanting to practice their skills and various reconnaissance techniques in the 'box'.

Colonel," the captain explained, "we think this simulator is a great way to improve our skills. Sergeant Gray and his people are really sharp and have given us suggestions and hints of better ways to do things that we don't even get from our flight leaders, who are all instructor pilots (IP's). Well, one flight leader, Major Collins, is a believer, but none of the others."

Tom was beginning to get a good picture of the way things worked in the 288th, or more precisely why they didn't work well. And every clue that he got pointed right back at the C.O. as the root of the problems. The flight leaders, ever interested in impressing their boss, mimicked his ways, right down to his vocal disdain for simulators and the regulations.

Around 2:00 PM, Tom appeared at Bill Smith's office in the 288th headquarters. "Hello, Bill. You got a few minutes?"

"Yeah. C'mon in. Pull up a chair. So you want to get re-qualified in the airplane, eh?"

"Yes, sir. That way I can be more useful over in the simulator facility. I need to get my skills back up so I can relate to the needs of the crews in training or up for annual flight checks. What do you have in the way of local regulations or procedures that I should know?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. All you have to do is pass a written 'emergency procedures' test and then fly with one of the IP's. At most you'll need two flights."

"What about some simulator time to get me up to speed on procedures, perhaps with an instructor navigator (IN)?"

"Not necessary, but if you want, I'll have Captain Sweeney work with you. He's our newest instructor and partial to that box."

"Good. I'd like to meet Sweeney now, if he's around. We can get my re-currency work started today."

LTC Smith pushed the buzzer on his inter-office squawk box and spoke into the speaker. Soon a static-y voice responded. "Yes, sir. I'll send Captain Sweeney right down."

"Not exactly hi-fi, is it?" Smith commented. This squawk box gets the job done, most of the time. Tom smiled and said nothing. In a few seconds a tall lanky fellow in a rumpled flight suit appeared at the door.

"You wanted to see me, Colonel?"

"Yes, Mitch. This is LTC Anderson, our new manager of the simulator group. He's a former RF-4 back-seater who's not current. I'm putting you in charge of getting him re-qualified and handling the paperwork."

"Good afternoon, sir," Sweeney responded, a broad toothy smile on his face. How long ago was it that you were last current in the RF?"

"It's been a while. I'm a little rusty, but with your help I can get back up to speed in a month or so, perhaps after a few simulator rides and a couple flights."

"Tom," Bill Smith decided, "why don't you and Captain Sweeney discuss the details down the hall in the navigation section. I've got a meeting with the flight leaders soon. Okay? And, oh yes à I'd like you to sit in on the Commanders Call this afternoon at 1600 hours. That way you can meet the fellows here and get a feel of how we do things in the 288th. 1600 hours in the briefing room."

"This way, sir. I hang my hat in that room at the end of the hall." Tom followed Captain Sweeney, stopping along the way at a filing cabinet, where Sweeney pulled out some forms and a copy of the RF-4 flight manual. Soon they arrived at a small office. Two other young officers, also in flight clothing, sat at desks and a table. It was crowded and messy, with girly pictures on the walls to either side of an aeronautical chart depicting the region around Simpson AFB. A dartboard on one wall evidenced much use, especially pinholes in the paneling where many darts obviously missed. Sweeney introduced Tom to the other men in the room and declared that he just heard of a Commander's Call this afternoon at 1600.

"Oh shit," exclaimed a young lieutenant. I've got other things to do. I'm supposed to get my car from the shop at that time. They close at six."

Another of the men responded, "Quit your bitching. This is the first Commander's Call in six months. It won't kill ya to go. I'll drive you to the shop after it's over."

The third fellow, also a lieutenant, asked Sweeney, "Do you suppose this meeting is the old man's critique of the inspection we just flunked? He'll probably read us the riot act, again."

While all this chit-chat was going on, Sweeney assembled a collection of materials to give Tom. It included a crew checklist, some photo calculation forms and a copy of the paperwork that had to be completed during the re-qualification process. Tom observed a printed flight schedule on the wall, noting with particular interest that there were no flights scheduled for the next two days.

"Captain Sweeney," Tom inquired. "What's the reason for no flights scheduled the next two days?"

"Oh that. The C.O. got instructions from headquarters to review all safety procedures and get all the pilots together to discuss how we can improve things around here. We're standing down for 48 hours."

"And navigators are not involved?"

"Nope. Just pilots. They don't have a helluva of a lot of use for navigators in the 288th. The C.O., especially, would rather that we just went away. Fly with him just once and you'll get my meaning."

"Tell me, Mitch. How much do you use the simulator as a training and evaluation tool?"

"Hardly any. You gotta have somebody in the front seat, a pilot, to fly the thing. So, unless we can find a pilot willing to work with us, navigators just don't get simulator time. Simple as that."

"And you don't get pilots to participate?"

"No, only rarely. The C.O. doesn't encourage our pilots to spent time in the box."

"Well, this navigator wants you to give me a few rides in the simulator as part of my refresher training. And don't worry about getting a pilot. I'll take care of that. Also, I want a couple sessions with you at the airplane, going over the checklist for inside and out."

"Sure. Whatever you say, Colonel. Just exactly what is your job around here?"

"I'm down here TDY to work with the flight simulator group and to get re-current in the airplane. Why?"

"Oh, nothing special, just that I was hoping you were assigned here as chief navigator or something. You've got the rank to fight the powers that be. We don't."

"I'm not here to fight anyone, just to see how we can get more use out of that expensive simulator and see if we can't improve things, like target scores, by using the simulator as a tool."

One of the lieutenants piped up, "Sir, you're not serious about using the simulator more, are you?"

"Sure, why not? It's a damn good training and evaluation tool and a helluva lot cheaper than burning up fuel or dinging up airplanes. Don't you agree?"

"How are you going to convince the brass that the simulator can help?"

"Look. I think that simulator practice on the types of photo missions where scores have been consistently low will definitely help. Those area cover targets, with the back and forth flight lines where crew coordination and precision flying is most important, are now the worst. Records show that the 288th is batting barely 50% on that kind of work. It sure as hell couldn't hurt to spend some simulator time getting techniques sharpened. Could it?"

"Agreed," said the lieutenant, and so nodded the others in the room. "But you've got an uphill battle to get the old man to schedule crews for that kind of simulator time."

"Perhaps, but we gotta start somewhere. I intend to demonstrate that time spent in the 'box' yields measurable results in the air. Any suggestions on specific pilots or crews that would go along with such an program?"

"Yes sir. The first name on my list would be Major Collins," Captain Sweeney responded. "Come to think of it, he's the only pilot I can think of that would go along with the idea. But, most of the navigators would. Right guys?" The others nodded in agreement, but then one lieutenant added that Captain Fox and his back-seater, Carr, would agree. Tom mentioned that he'd already spoken to those two, and in fact, they were at the simulator on their own initiative that afternoon.

"That crew is the first to try the new radar warning receiver system added to the simulator. Sergeant Gray and his crew just installed the upgrade today." Tom and Captain Sweeney agreed to start devoting some time, on a regular basis, to getting the re-currency effort under way starting next week

Chapter 4

Pilots, navigators, maintenance people and others in the 288th began showing up in the briefing room just before 4:00 PM. There was considerable murmur and under their breath conversation about what this might be all about. Some felt it was to be a butt-chewing for the poor performance in the recent inspection. Others thought it was to be just another boring, albeit required, gathering to receive preachings from higher headquarters. Nobody seemed thrilled to be there, especially so late in the afternoon.

LTC Bradley finally appeared, his entry denoted by the shout of Bill Smith for everyone to come to attention. Bradley quickly told everyone to be seated and made some snide remarks to Smith to knock off the formalities. Soon Bradley was up on the stage and standing at a podium with a microphone.

"All right, you guys. Quiet down. I'll make this a brief as possible, but headquarters has directed this 'all hands' get together, so let's get at it. Firstly, we are in the dog house again. It seems that our bosses are not happy with our performance in the recent inspection. I can't imagine why?"

A roar of laughter went through the room and even a few whistles came from the back of the crowd. Bradley held up his hands, in a gesture that could be interpreted as calling for quiet, or perhaps that of a politician playing to the crowd. His facial expression was that of a broad smile, and certainly not one intended to impart rebuke. In any case, order soon returned and he continued his talk.

"Before I get into the main topic, gents. I want to introduce you to LTC Tom Anderson. Stand up, Tom." And in the back of the room Tom stood as people turned to see who Bradley was talking about.

"Colonel Anderson is here to oversee some new activities in the flight simulator facility. He's TDY from headquarters. And, he will be getting checked out, again, in the RF-4. Colonel Anderson flew 175 missions in the RF-4 in Viet Nam, so he is no stranger to our operations. He might even give us a few pointers, so we won't flunk the next inspection. I expect all of you to cooperate with his simulator activities, and some of you will participate in his re-qualification efforts. Welcome aboard, Colonel."

Tom listened, both to Bradley and the side conversations going on around him. It was clear that Bradley was as much a politician as a jet pilot, perhaps more the politician. He certainly had a kind of leadership ability. He knew how to play a crowd and generate emotions and responses. It occurred to Tom that it was such a waste of talent for Bradley to use his talents and energies this way, when he could be motivating his men to perform better and change their sloppy ways. The remainder of the hour was devoted to a re-hash of the inspection areas and specific deficiencies noted. Each and every topic of the inspector's report was met with excuses and derision over the nature of the write-ups.

Not once did Bradley blame his troops for failure to perform to standards. In fact, Tom got the definite impression that those standards didn't apply to the 288th. Soon, Bradley accepted questions and comments from the audience.

One captain asked why they were standing down and not flying for two days. "Beats me," was Bradley's response. Another voice from the room asked if Colonel Anderson's presence meant they would be flying more simulator missions. Bradley ducked that question.

And then there was a question from one of the flight leaders, "When can we expect those inspectors back? Are we gonna be re-tested?" Bradley acknowledged that a second visit was a certainty, but he had no idea when. When the session broke up, Tom had the definite impression that Bradley met the letter of the requirement to gather the troops and review the discrepancies. But, in no way did Tom feel that Bradley had even attempted to motivate them to do better, fly safer or adhere to any standards. The contempt for higher headquarters was pretty obvious. This was, and would remain, Bradley's domain.

Tom also got the clear impression that Bradley was pleased to have a weak, unquestioning, Operations officer, Bill Smith, who would never challenge the CO's decisions or modus operandi, even in private. As the meeting broke up, with most of the men bolting for the exits, Major Collins approached Tom, extending his hand in greeting.

"Welcome aboard, Colonel. I'm Ned Collins, flight leader of "C" Flight." Collins was a good-looking fellow, dark-haired, cut short, and obviously proud to be an Air Force pilot. His flight suit was clean and even pressed. He wore a red scarf that nicely accented his uniform. He stood erect, unlike some of the slouching men now leaving the room.

"Nice to meet you, Ned. I've heard good things about you." "Oh, from these guys?"

"No. But, they were good things from folks who know of your good work."

"Not headquarters, I hope. That's the last place I want anybody to know my name."

"Say, Ned. I was hoping we could get a chance to talk. I need to bounce some ideas off you, about how we can make the simulator more useful and supportive of operations. Could we get together, say Monday afternoon?"

"Sure, Colonel. Where? Here or over at the simulator building?"

"Let's say my office, at the simulator, at 1400 hours. Would that fit with your schedule?"

"Yes, sir. See you then. And once again, welcome aboard." Friday evening, from his VOQ room, Tom thumbed through the base telephone book, looking for Jeff Andrews. He found the listing for a Major J. Andrews and dialed the number.

"Hello, Major Andrews residence."

"Jeff Andrews? Is this Jeff Andrews, formerly from the 67th at Langley?"

"Yes, this is Jeff. Who's calling?"

"This is a voice from your dark distant past. Do you remember clobbering some friends at bridge two years ago?"

"Tom? Tom Anderson? Well, how in the hell are you? And where are you?"

"Hiya ole buddy. Yup it's me. I'm here in the VOQ, down here TDY."

"Is Jenny with you? Carolyn will be delighted to see her." "No. I'm down here by myself, but Jenny sends her love to both of you."

"It's great to hear your voice, my friend. Can you come by for supper tomorrow evening, say around six? It'll not be fancy, maybe just hamburgers on the grill and some potato salad. I've got a case of your favorite beer. You do still like San Miguel, don't you?"

"Sure do. Ever since we discovered that brew in the Philippines, it's been my favorite. I'll be there around six. Looking forward to seeing you both again."

After they hung up the phones, Tom decided to call Jenny. The phone rang at least ten times before she answered it. "Hi, hon."

"Oh, Tom, I was in the shower. Sorry it took so long."

"No problem. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Sure glad it's Friday though. The past two weeks at work have been a zoo. And you?"

"This has been quite an education for me. The 288th is a totally screwed up outfit, all except the simulator section and the maintenance folks. I start my re-currency program next week. Might even get to fly in the RF in a week or so. I'm looking forward to it."

"How is your VOQ room?"

"The usual. Nothing fancy, but it'll do. I was told by the maintenance chief, that they have a few base housing units here set up as furnished guest quarters. If I can get you to come down here, we'll have a nice place on base. Interested?"

"I'd love to, honey, but I can't. I just can't get away just now. What are your prospects for a hop up to Langley some weekend? I miss you."

"I've got it on my 'to do' list to check that out, sweetheart. Oh, I just got off the phone with Jeff. They've invited me over for dinner tomorrow night. Looking forward to it."

"Give 'em both my love, please."

"Will do. I'll call you next week, Tuesday evening. How's that?"

"Wonderful. But now I've got to get back and dry off. I'm dripping wet and there's a puddle here on the floor. Bye hon." Tom had a mental image of his lovely Jenny standing there, wrapped in a towel and dripping wet. God, how he wished he was there right now.

Saturday, Tom spent most of the day reading his RF-4 handbook and reviewing the steps needed to get current again. From the documents he'd been given by Sweeney, Tom decided that his re-qualification process was pretty loosely defined. It looked pretty much as though all he needed would be a couple simulator rides and at most two flights to get signed off as current again. He appeared at Jeff's place at the appointed 6:00

o'clock hour to find Carolyn out on the patio setting up the picnic table. Jeff soon appeared carrying a plate of hamburgers and the fixings for supper. But, the first thing he did was offer Tom a San Miguel beer.

"Boy. This brings back memories. Remember those days at Clark Field and the cookouts we had there? I remember fondly the time I came in from Saigon and met you two at your house on the base. We cooked out like this on your back patio. That was nice. And we all got on the telephone to call Jenny, back in the states.

"She sure was surprised." Carolyn added, "She sure was. It was two in the morning her time. We forgot about the time difference, but she didn't seem to mind." All three laughed and continued talking about those days. And then the tone of conversation turned a bit sad with mention of Clark Field being wiped out and covered with thick ash by the volcano.

"Damn shame. That was a terrific place to be stationed. Guys today will never know what it was like," Jeff ended. The modest meal of hamburgers, potato salad, chips and beer seemed much more special, for good friends were together and their conversations never stopped.

"Hey, you two," interrupted Carolyn. "Let's call Jenny."

Chapter 5

Monday afternoon, at 2:00 PM sharp, Major Collins appeared at Tom's office door. "C'mon on in Ned. Please have a seat." "What's up, Colonel?"

"Let's be a little more informal here. In private, just call me Tom. Okay?"

"Sure. Tom it is. So what's up?"

"I wanted to discuss a couple things with you, Ned. First of all, I'm concerned, as is Colonel Kelly up at headquarters, that the 288th isn't getting full benefit from the first-rate simulator you've got here. And when you couple that fact with their low showing in the last inspection, it makes me wonder."

"Well, simulator use isn't really a priority item with the CO."

"So I've heard, and I'm hoping to change that to the benefit of everyone."

"What have you got in mind, sir?"

"What I was thinking of, Ned, with you being one of the flight leaders and knowing how competitive fighter pilots are, was a kind of horse race."

"How so?"

"Okay. Let's suppose, for the sake of argument, that practice in the simulator improves performance and flight safety. Would you agree with that premise?"

"Sure. Practice improves skills and crew coordination. And the simulator is a great place to practice emergency procedures, as well as training new crews. And?"

"The 'and' is a test, a performance comparison test. Let's suppose that one flight of aircrews, yours for instance, adopted a practice of taking weekly simulator rides to sharpen skills on the routes and targets you'll be flying on routine missions, and later on the kinds of profiles the inspectors throw at you. It's my view that inflight performance and target scores will improve substantially, more than enough to make the others take notice that there must be a reason why."

"Sure, I can visualize that. But what kind of horse race?" "Let's create an in-house competition, say for a 60 day period, between the four flights. We'll set up a series of ten routes, each with progressively tougher targets. But only your flight will emphasize mission-by-mission practice in the simulator. At the end of the 60-day period, the winning flight, based on actual performance, gets some kind of recognition or reward. Practice in the 'box' will be your flight's secret weapon. In fact, I'll bet that it will be no contest. Your flight will take the prize in a cake walk."

"Yeah, sure. That makes sense. Have you got any ideas about what kind of rewards would be involved? It's gotta be important enough to make the other flights want to go for it."

"Well, a beer bust isn't high on my list. How about an R&R or some kind of cross-country trip to, say, Las Vegas? We could land at Nellis."

"Sounds good, but how would you get headquarters to go for that?"

"I think I can get Colonel Kelly and perhaps even General Harrison to go along, especially of the margin of improvement is significant. Your squadron's target scores are now in the 50% range, though I hear those of your flight are over 60%. Let's suppose that the winning flight can demonstrate a 90% score at the end of the 60 days. That would be significant. The minimum flight score to qualify would have to be, say, 80%. Reasonable?" "Yes. 80% would be a reasonable minimum and still leave room for the top flight to score above that. What about a tie situation?"

"Hmmmm. I hadn't considered that. If there's a tie, we could have a fly-off, I suppose. I don't know whether or not headquarters would send 16 crews to Vegas, especially when you consider there might have to be maintenance support for the short deployment."

"Sir, that brings up another benefit of the prize."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Well, if we deploy eight aircraft we'll have to send enough maintenance folks along to support and turn 'em around. How about making their participation a reward of sorts too?"

"Good idea. After I bounce this off Colonel Kelly and get approval, I'll discuss it with Colonel Simmons too. But the next question is, how to broach the subject with Colonels Bradley or Smith?"

"I know, sir. What if this whole competition thing, and the Vegas reward trip, came down from headquarters as their idea? That would mean that Colonel Bradley would have to go along. The only part of it that he wouldn't have to be told was that my flight was using the simulator to gain the edge."

"Good thinking. That just might work, as well as solving some potential relationship problems between me and your CO. I wouldn't be put in the position of end-running him. Yes, that's the way to do it."

"What's the second topic you wanted to discuss with me, Tom?"

"Oh that. Yes. I am starting my re-currency check in the RF and wondered if you would be will to be my IP, after I get a couple simulator rides under my belt?"

"Sure. And I'll join you in the 'box', if you need a pilot to work with you."

"Thanks. That would be great. I appreciate that. I've got some sessions with Captain Sweeney set up, here in the simulator and at an airplane to get me back up to speed. You know, a few days ago, when I first got here, Sergeant Gray flew with me as my pilot. It was great. I felt as if I'd never left the RF. It's sorta like riding a bicycle. In just a short 20-minute ride I was almost back in the groove again."

"Colonel Bradley said you flew 175 missions in Nam. Right?"

"Yes. Most were in the south, but 50 or so were up north and over Laos. And I flew with lots of different pilots, from new guys coming in to headquarters types in-country for their combat pay."

"I was too young for that action, so maybe you can give me a few tips, based on your real combat experience."

"Don't know about that, but I look forward to flying with you. And I thank you for your coming by to hear my ideas. I'll keep you posted on what headquarters says about the competition and a Vegas reward trip. Let's keep this between us, just in case I can't sell it. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. And I want to say it's great having you here. Yours are the first fresh ideas we've had around here for some time. And, oh, yes. I do support your enthusiasm for the simulator. It's a terrific training device."

"Thanks, Ned. See you later."

Tom spent the remainder of the afternoon organizing his thoughts and several notes he'd made on his observations of the 288th. Then he sketched out more details about the competition idea. About 4:00 PM, he decided he'd better report by telephone to General Harrison. Before placing his call, he checked with Sergeant Gray about a single line phone he could use that wouldn't be intercepted by others. Gray suggested that the phone in the manufacturer's tech rep office, at the end of the hall, would be the most secure.

General Harrison was eager to hear the report. And Tom pulled no punches. When he got around to suggesting the competition idea, as a way to improve crew performance and simulator usage, Harrison was most enthusiastic. He approved the Las Vegas deployment idea on the spot, including the logistical support of maintenance crews and aerial tankers to go with the RF-4's.

"Look, Tom. I think it's probably a good idea for you to come back up here to work with Kelly's folks in defining the exercise and flight routes for the competition, as well as some details of the Las Vegas deployment. He'll have to coordinate with them. You can bring up a couple guys from down there to help in planning, if you need 'em. But, I think the mission routes and requirements should originate up here. That way there won't be any suspicions of hanky-panky by the foxes guarding the chicken coop, so to speak. When do you want the 60-day competition period to start?"

"How about the 15th of next month, General? I can be back at Langley this Friday. That'll give me a week or so to get things planned and an execution order put together with Colonel Kelly's people. The 288th can be tasked to participate as a routine training exercise."

"Good. See you next week. Stop by and brief me on the details, and have Colonel Kelly join you."

"Will do, General. I'm convinced this will work and actually help the 288th get back on track, without embarrassing Colonel Bradley."

"You're right, Tom. Good thinking. See you soon."

Tom and Captain Sweeney managed to get several hours together, on the flight line and in the simulator. Sergeant Gray acted as pilot on two simulator rides and then Major Collins came over to fly a third practice mission. Tom showed that he was still able to perform much as he had done in Viet Nam. Then he and Collins flew a daytime sortie in the airplane. It went well, just as it did in the simulator the previous day. Each and every step in the air they'd practiced in the box.

Collins said he was ready to sign Tom off as fully re-qualified, but Tom suggested that a night mission later would probably be a good idea first. That flight would include a rendezvous with a tanker, Tom's first in his re-currency process. Colonel Bradley showed no interest in Tom's progress. But then he didn't object when Bill Smith scheduled the flights needed to get Tom up to speed. He merely commented that it was curious that Captain Sweeney's pilot, Captain Allen, seemed like the logical one to take Tom, but otherwise said nothing. In fact, he didn't even inquire how things were going.

Before Tom left for his return trip to Langley, he dropped by to chat once more with Nate Simmons, in the maintenance section. He advised Nate that there would be an exercise directed by headquarters, and that the winning flight of eight crews would get to go to Las Vegas. Nate was especially enthusiastic about some of his troops getting to go along with the winners, even if it would be a working trip.

Bradley didn't object when Tom asked if Sweeney and Allen could go up to Langley, along with Collins, for a special planning project at headquarters. "Yeah, sure. As long as headquarters pays the TDY expenses, I don't care. How long? Four days? Sure. Go ahead."

Tom left on a Friday, so he could spend the weekend with Jenny. The other three came up, also on a commercial flight, the following Monday. They met at Colonel Kelly's office at 1300 hours that day. Neither Sweeney nor his pilot really knew what this was all about, until they got there. Colonel Kelly gave them the impression that they were participating in a headquarters-directed project to exercise the 288th, perhaps prior to the next inspection, or re-inspection. They never realized that this was all Tom's doing. Only Collins knew.

With the help of four of Colonel Kelly's staff, the team prepared a set of mission packages to be flown by each and every 288th crew during the 60-day exercise period. With 32 crews flying the missions, that would be 320 sorties, a good chance to demonstrate what the squadron could do. No mention was made in the instruction package of a requirement for crews to practice missions in the simulator first. When the job was done, Colonel Kelly, Tom and the three men from the 288th participated in a briefing to General Harrison. It was then that the general decided to have Kelly fly down to Simpson to announce the competition and reveal the motivational prize, a Thursday to Monday Las Vegas TDY, otherwise known in flying circles as a 'boon-doggle' trip.

Flight crews and support personnel would, of course, receive per diem pay to cover expenses. As the meeting ended, the general asked Tom to remain in the room after the others left.

"I'm impressed, Tom. This competition idea should give the 288th something to aim for, as well as demonstrate the usefulness of simulator training. What do you think Bradley's reaction will be?"

"Hard to say, General. As a typical, aggressive fighter pilot, he'll probably welcome the competition and getting his crews some rewards for showing their stuff. He might wonder about my role in all of this, and question why he wasn't read in on the planning, but I don't expect a whole lot of reaction, one way or the other."

"Yeah, you're probably right. How about Bill Smith?"

"The same. He's pretty much a fifth wheel down there. As an operations officer he is ineffective. He's totally intimidated by Bradley and does nothing on his own. I'll bet he's just counting the days until he retires. I am very impressed, however, with Major Collins. He and a few others are very professional. Most of the rest, especially the pilots, are mainly intent on impressing Bradley. The navigators are a wholly demoralized bunch. Bradley doesn't hide his general disdain for them."

"How about the troops in the simulator?"

"They're top notch. Sergeant Gray is a terrific resource and a good leader. And you know what? He's one helluva pilot too. He can make that simulator whistle Dixie."

"I'm not surprised. Did you know that he was one of the last Marine Corps enlisted pilots? He flew jets too."

"Well I'll be. No. He never mentioned that. Why didn't the Air Force offer him a commission instead of stripes?"

"Hard to say. It might be because he doesn't even have a high school diploma. But we're mighty lucky to have him where he is."

"Amen, General. He's a gem."

Chapter 6

Back down at Simpson things were going on pretty much in the usual way. Except for one or two navigators who got curious about the upgrade to the simulator and its new capability to present threat radars, nobody actually 'flew' the thing while Tom was up at Langley.

LTC Bradley created a bit of a stir among the younger pilots when the fellow flying in the back seat with him one day described a recent flight to his buddies. "You shoulda seen it, guys. It was awesome," said Captain Elliott.

"What? Your flight with the old man yesterday? That old guy can't be awesome. What happened?"

"Jim, you had to be there. We were flying along at 18,000 feet, straight and level at about 480 knots, when all of a sudden Bradley rolls us over on our back and then pulls back on the stick. We started a screaming dive, picking up speed like crazy. Then he pulls g's like you wouldn't believe and we pull up just 2200 feet above the ground. It was a real adrenaline rush, I tell you."

Captain Hawkins, one of the eager listeners to the tale, interjected, "That was a Split-S maneuver. First time I'd heard it done at that low an altitude though. I'll bet the ground was really rushing up at you."

"Yeah, and then we climbed back up while he demonstrated an Immelman maneuver. That was much tamer. Finally, he hinted that he would show me a hammerhead stall, but he never did. Colonel Bradley is one heck of a pilot, I tell you. We'd been practicing air combat tactics (ACT), rat racing with Lieutenant Graham's airplane, Bradley trying to show us how to get away if we're being attacked."

Hawkins commented, "Well, since our recce birds aren't armed, it's good to know how to handle the situation when you get jumped by the enemy. Get headed away from him as fast as you can and haul ass."

"Yeah. And he told me that if some guy is on your tail and you can't shake him, pull g's as long as you can and do a rudder reversal, if you can. Ain't no bullets can hit you as long as you're pulling g's, 'cause once they leave his guns they go straight on by. Bullets don't maneuver with hard g's and neither do most air-to-air missiles."

"Right you are, my young friends," LTC Bill Smith added, on overhearing the pilots talk and demonstrate maneuvers with their hands. But don't let me catch any of you out there performing unauthorized acrobatics. We horse around only during controlled and supervised ACT training. You got that?" The small group of young pilots responded in unison, "Yes, sir. Got it." And then their broke up the impromptu conversation, their enthusiasm dampened by Smith's cautions.

Captain Cardoza and his young navigator, Lieutenant Klein, walked down the hall toward the briefing room. Cardoza bragged that anything Colonel Bradley could do, he could do better.

"That old guy is way past his prime. He may have been a top gun pilot years ago, but this is now and I know I'm better." "What difference does it make, Jerry? This isn't a contest, you know?" Klein chided.

"You'll see. Just wait," ended Cardoza. Bill Smith received a phone call from Colonel Kelly, telling him to get the troops together next Monday afternoon at 1500 hours for a special briefing. There was no hint of what it was all about, but Smith, knowing that Colonel Kelly was Chief of F/RF-4 Training up in headquarters, suspect it has something to do with flight crew training. All Kelly said that tweaked Smith's interest was to say that that the troops would like his news.

"Hey, Sarge," Smith called out. "Put a notice on the bulletin board and a flyer in each flight leader's mail box to let all hands know there will be a Meeting Monday at 1500. Colonel Kelly from headquarters will be here. Tell 'em it's mandatory. Got that?"

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it." Then Smith walked down the hall to Bradley's office to let him know about the phone call. "We've got visitors coming Monday, boss. Colonel Kelly is coming down and wants a meeting with all the crews at 1500. I just got off the phone with him."

"Oh crap. That's all I need, another of those headquarters idiots coming down here to tell us how to do things. What's his beef this time?"

"He didn't say. Could be a suggestion that we use the simulator more."

"Well, spread the word. I guess we'd better humor him." "Doing it now, boss."

Tom stayed in the Hampton Roads area that weekend, until Sunday afternoon. He and Jenny enjoyed a drive up to Annapolis for dinner Saturday night, after an afternoon exploring Baltimore's waterfront. They agreed that when the renewal and construction was done, Baltimore's waterfront would be a great tourist attraction. Sunday afternoon, Tom caught a flight from Newport News down to South Carolina, landing at Charleston airport just before sunset. He drove back to the air base and his VOQ room.

Monday, around mid-day, Colonel Kelly landed at Simpson and parked his T-39 in front of base operations. Bradley and Smith were on hand to greet him. "What up, Colonel?" asked Bradley. "Why the afternoon briefing?"

"Let's go over to the Officers' Club, grab some lunch and I'll give you a rundown. You guys still have those great crab cakes on the noon menu?"

Bradley drove the threesome to the Club. Smith, not overly concerned with Colonel Kelly's presence, ordered his usual martini to go with lunch. Bradley paid no heed, but Kelly noticed and didn't approve.

"Hey. I'm not on the flight schedule today. No sweat, sir. I'm only having one."

Kelly gave his two lunch companions a quick overview of the training exercise and competition to be kicked off on the 15th. About the only interest Bradley and Smith really showed was in the prize, the trip to Las Vegas for the winning flight. Bradley said Kelly could save his time in scoring results, because he and A-Flight would be the winners. Kelly wasn't amused, but laughed off the suggestion.

"Let's just wait and see how it goes. Don't pack your bags yet, Rex. It isn't over until it's over."

"How long are you going to be with us, sir," asked Bradley. "Just overnight. I'll head back before noon tomorrow." Smith said he'd arrange for Kelly to have a room in the VIP quarters, and make a car available.

"Anything special you want to do or need before the 1500 briefing, Colonel?" asked Smith.

"Yes. I want to talk with Sergeant Gray and his troops in the simulator. Just drop me off and I'll walk over to your office. It's just across the street."

Colonel Kelly walked into the simulator building at 1:30 and surprised Sergeant Gray, who was in the main bay and not his office. "How's is going, Sarge?"

The startled Gray stood up, saluted and said, "Good to see you sir. You here for a ride?"

"No. I just wanted to stop by and say how impressed we are with your simulator and the efforts of your troops. Did you complete the upgrade to include the radar warning features?"

"Yes, sir. Had that done the same day that Colonel Anderson brought us the tapes and specifications. She's working just fine."

"Good. What's the reaction of the crews?"

Gray stammered and paused before answering, "Well, sir. Things have been kinda slow in here lately. Not many crews have tried it yet."

"So I hear, Sarge. So I hear. Well, that's about to change. Let's go to your office and I'll fill you in on something new." The two walked down the hall, Kelly noting with pleasure how clean and neat the place was. At the last minute, Kelly suggested that they just use a classroom, because there were work tables available.

Then he took some maps, charts and papers from his briefcase. He proceeded to give Sergeant Gray a private briefing on the upcoming competition and the standard routes to be flow by all crews.

"We're not making it a requirement, yet, but crews are free to fly these routes in the simulator before each mission. Those that take advantage of the opportunity will surely do better than those that don't. I'd like you to have the first of the route packages set up in the simulator by the 10th. You'll have more time to get the rest of 'em programmed, because this exercise will run for 60 days. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, sir. No problem. We'll definitely have the first two ready to go by the 10th."

"Fine. I know you can expect Major Collins and his flight members to be here. We chatted about this last week and he's 'gung ho' about practice before flying. You know, I suspect, that this whole thing is Colonel Anderson's idea."

"Yes, sir. We went over it in some detail, except for the route specifics. I agree it's going to be a way to get most crews to realize that their performance will improve. The colonel is a good man."

"I agree, but now I've got to sell this to the crews. We've got a briefing at 1500. You're welcome to sit in, if you like." Sergeant Gray suggested that he wanted to get his men started on the route programs and would not be making the briefing.

The briefing room of the 288th was filled to capacity, all 32 crews and the staff members were there to hear what Colonel Kelly had to say. Some though he was there to initiate a second inspection. Others thought it would be just another ass chewing. But when the sergeant placed a viewgraph slide on the projector declaring Operation Las Vegas, the room hushed and everyone's attention was focused on Colonel Kelly.

"That right, gentlemen. Las Vegas. A five-day trip, with per diem to just eight crews, the winners of a little competition we've cooked up in headquarters."

Then a series of additional slides describing the terms and conditions for the competition followed. Colonel Kelly explained in great detail the objectives, target types and standards to be met. When he said that each of the four flights would compete as units, against each other and the standards, there were some groans in the crowd. But what got the worst groans was his declaration that if the flights scored under 80%, nobody would be eligible.

When the floor was opened up for questions, several of the pilots asked how headquarters expected an outfit that was around 50% in target scores to possibly get above 80%.

"Guess you boys have some home work and practice to do," responded Kelly. "Now every crew will fly each route just once. You all fly route #1 before anybody moves on to Route #2. There will be just three days advance notice on what the routes are and what targets you are expected to hit. Clear?"

"How about equipment failures and such?" asked a young pilot in the front row. "We shouldn't be held responsible if our equipment breaks, sir."

"Is that what you'd tell your enemy, if this was an actual combat mission, Lieutenant? I don't think so. You'll do whatever you can to get your wartime targets, and that's what you're going to have to do here. There are back-up techniques you need to brush up on. You have multiple cameras, from the verticals to your strip cameras and your panoramic cameras. You even have the IR strip sensors. You're expected to get pictures of each and all the assigned targets of a quality that the photo interpreters can realistically use. This is not an exercise of the equipment. No, indeed. It's an exercise of your skills, talents and resourcefulness. Locate and 'hit' your targets the best you can."

"How many of the missions will be at night, Colonel? Will we be using photoflash cartridges?"

"Yes, Captain. You'll fly four night missions in the total set, and you will have both pinpoint and strip targets to hit. Flash cartridges will be required. Sorties number nine and ten will be the toughest. You will fly out to a set of targets on number nine in daylight, refuel on the ground at a staging base, and fly sortie number ten on the return leg. You'll carry two mission folders with you when you leave on number nine."

Unexpectedly, the questions and conversation ended. Crews were suddenly aware of the challenge this ten-mission exercise presented. Colonel Kelly ended by suggesting that you boys have some homework to do. "Get ready to meet the challenge. First mission details will be distributed on the 12th. Good luck, gentlemen."

Just as the colonel started to step down, a voice from the back of the room asked, "What happens, sir, if there's a tie? With two flights scoring over 80%? What then?"

Colonel Kelly went back up on the stage, smiling. "That's the kind of question I was hoping for. It shows a positive attitude that suggests there will be a marked improvement in scores. Well, Captain, we could toss a coin, I suppose. But, I think General Harrison would rather see a fly-off, a one-sortie fly-off. The winners there get to go and the losers get to wave goodbye. But, should that also end in a tie, well I guess we'll just have to get the general to spring for two flights going to Vegas. Fair enough?"

Laughter filled the room, and Kelly stepped down from the stage. Colonel Kelly motioned for Tom to come over to him. "Tom, I haven't mentioned the simulator. It's not a requirement for any of the crews to use it for practice, but I did give Sergeant Gray a complete set of the mission information. He's going to be ready to support the first crews by the 10th. Give him a hand, will you?"

"Of course, sir. But I don't expect more than Major Collins' flight to take full advantage of the practice runs. We're prepared though and can run the simulator 18 hours a day, of necessary. Time in the box will be on a first come, first served basis. Sergeant Gray is setting up a schedule board now."

"Well, keep me posted. If this competition idea of your does the job, then we just might try it with the other recon outfits."

"It'll work, Colonel. You'll see. And have a good flight back."

The next morning Bradford and Smith accompanied Kelly back to Base Operations and the T-39 to take their boss back to Langley. "I'm counting on you, Rex, to motivate these guys and get at least one bunch that Vegas trip."

"Like I told you, sir. It'll be A-Flight. Count on it." Kelly smiled, shook Bradley and Smith's hands and climbed aboard his twin-engine executive jet for the short flight home. He smiled, doubting seriously if A-Flight would be the winners.

In the meantime, one of the 288^th crews was nearing completion of a low level training mission off the coast. It had gone well and the navigator, Lieutenant Max Klein, felt good about it, confident that for once they hit their target precisely as planned. Up in the front cockpit Captain Manuel "Manny" Cardoza was feeling cocky too, smugly satisfied with their accomplishment. On the climbout, to the planned 26,000 foot cruise altitude back to base, he unexpectedly leveled off at 16,000 feet. Klein wondered what was happening.

"Manny?? What are leveling off for? 26,000 feet is our cruise altitude."

"Yeah, I know. Look, we're clean today, no external fuel tanks, so I'm going to show you something. If the 'Old Man' can do it from 18,000 feet, we're going to from 16,000. Watch this."

The airplane suddenly rolled over onto it back, upside down. Max's checklist, charts and navigation kit came flying through the cockpit. He scrambled to retrieve things before they wound up where they shouldn't. Then Max felt the airplane start to dive and watched as the altimeter began to unwind furiously. The larger needle was spinning around like crazy as the

RF-4 plummeted.

"You idiot," Max screamed. "What in the hell do you think you're doing? We'll never make it." And then he felt the strong g-forces forcing him down tightly into his seat, as Manny pulled back harder and harder on the stick. The ground rushed up at them. Max was terror-struck, realizing that his gung-ho pilot was going to get them killed.

"Pull up," he shouted. "We aren't going to make it."

The altimeter showed 5,000 feet and they were still pointed nose down too much. Max realized that there was no way they'd make it. "I'm outa here, you idiot. We're gonna crash."

Max grabbed the two ejection handles above his head, yanked hard to pull the wind blast screen down in front of his face to his belt level and suddenly the ejection seat fired. They must have been doing almost 600 knots when he left the screaming jet on its descent to certain impact. Max's chute opened. He hit the water after just a few oscillations, managing to inflate his water wings before becoming entangled in his shroud lines. The airplane crashed onto a small sandy island, though Max didn't see the impact. Manny rode it all the way.

No sooner had Colonel Kelly arrived back in his office than General Harrison called him to come over. Without even taking off his hat and coat, he reported to the general's office.

"What's up, General?"

"Not up, John. Down. One of the 288th's RF-4's crashed this morning, along the outer coastal islands. The navigator, a Lieutenant Klein, survived. The pilot, Captain Cardoza didn't." "Damn. I probably saw him yesterday afternoon too. Any details?"

"No. The navigator is in a civilian hospital in Charleston, pretty banged up. Some fishermen saw it happen and pulled Klein out of the water. His parachute saved him, but then so did the fishermen. There are sharks in those waters."

"When is the accident investigation team leaving? I'd like to go along, since they were on a training flight, I assume." "Yes, it was an early morning practice, a coastal photo strip sortie. You can go down if you like, but check in with Brigadier General Graham first. He heading up the investigation. Are you going to Charleston or Simpson?"

"Not much I could do at the crash site. No, I'll go down to Simpson and see what I can find out."

"Wasn't that competition supposed to start next week?"

"Yes, General. And I don't think this will delay it, unless of course the accident investigation finds a serious flaw in the airplanes. I'll keep you posted."

Rumors were flying down at Simpson AFB. Conversations about the cause of then crash in the 288th flight planning room, and around the coffee bar, ran the gamut from a mechanical failure to pilot error.

Bill Smith tried to quash the wild speculation, but he couldn't ignore comments from two or three crew members. They suggested that Captain Cardoza probably tried to emulate the CO's aerobatics and simply lost control. Some claimed to have heard Cardoza bragging that if Bradley could do a Split-S from 18,000 feet. He could do it at 16,000.

"You don't know that," complained one of the junior pilots. Captain Cardoza wasn't that irresponsible, even if he did brag and swagger a little."

"Look, you guys," Smith interrupted. "We don't have any details yet. Let's just see how the formal investigation turns out before rushing to judgement. Now get back to work. The competition starts next week and I'm not sure you guys are ready yet. I put copies of the ground rules on the table in the planning room. I suggest you read it."

Tom and Sergeant Gray were in the simulator that morning. Gray was showing the first mission route to Tom and getting his own technicians up to speed on what it required. When word of the crash got to them, both were stunned and saddened. But neither had enough information to form an opinion about what caused it.

"Route #1 looks good, Sarge. It's got a pretty easy high-level photo target and a difficult low altitude area cover. The mission runs about an hour and a half."

"Yes, sir. That means that we can get all 32 crews a chance to practice it in time for first launch on the 15th. Sorry, better make that 31 crews, with the loss of Captain Cardoza and Lieutenant Klein. I guess D-Flight will be one short."

"Guess so, but that won't effect anything, because it's average scores by flight that count. They'll just be averaged for seven crews."

"Major Collins said he is coming by this afternoon to schedule his flight, all eight crews, starting on the 10th. He's serious about making his guys take advantage of the practices. You made him a believer, sir."

"No, It wasn't me. Collins is a sharp guy and he knows. And you watch, because it'll make a real difference. Crews that don't practice first are putting themselves at a disadvantage."

Chapter 7

The accident investigation team found the wreckage difficult to analyze. The airplane apparently hit the coastal island in a nearly vertical dive. Though parts weren't strewn widely, they were badly mangled and only the tail section was recognizable as coming from an airplane. Both engines were smashed into a single heap, making it really hard to determine if they were running or not when the crash occurred.

Lieutenant Klein's ejection seat was discovered under some Palmettos a half mile away. The fishermen didn't attempt to recover the parachute. They cut away the shroud lines while pulling Klein from the water in great haste. It wasn't until two days later that the investigation team was allowed by doctors to interview Klein. He suffered serious back injuries and was in great pain.

What they learned was especially disheartening and tragic. Cardoza had indeed attempted to perform the Split-S maneuver from 16,000 feet. Klein bailed out when he realized that there wasn't room to complete the pull-out, just before the airplane smashed into the island's sands.

Colonel Kelly learned all of that in conversations with General Graham. He also learned that the investigation team was attempting to determine whether or not Lieutenant Klein's sudden ejection had contributed to the crash, conjecture being that it distracted Cardoza from completing the pull-out. That, however, did not dissuade the team from concluding that the

Split-S maneuver from 16,000 feet was the main cause.

While Kelly was visiting the 288th, some of the crews discussed the accident with him, hoping to learn details that he might have and they didn't. In the course of those conversations one of the navigators suggested that Cardoza was trying to impress Bradley, a show that he could upstage his CO. There was much discussion about Bradley's own acrobatics stimulating Cardoza to prove himself to be better than his CO. That dialog really upset Colonel Kelly, so much so that he excused himself and decided to take a walk to think about all that speculation before doing anything.

Quite by accident, Kelly found himself walking by the simulator building. He decided to go in and see if Tom was there. He discovered Tom just coming out of the simulator after a run-through of the first competition sorties.

"Good afternoon, Colonel. I sure as heck didn't expect to see you back here so soon."

"Afternoon? Already, Tom? It's this crash. My mind is absorbed in all of this."

"You had lunch, sir. It's after one o'clock. Why don't we go over to the Club and grab a sandwich?"

"Sure. Good idea. I want to talk with you about something. I need your read on what's happened and about some scuttlebutt going around the squadron." The two walked out to Tom's car and drove across the base to the Officers' Club. The low, white, sprawling Club building seemed inviting, surrounded by pleasant lawns, shrubs and flowers. The scene was very peaceful, quite in contrast to the hustle and bustle of Langley AFB. Even a few tall, gently waving palm trees graced the front entry walkway. A huge patio and swimming pool occupied the south side.

Most folks had already eaten and the lunch crowd was thinning out rapidly, several coming out the door as Tom and Kelly walked in. The two went through the now-uncrowded serving line and headed for a table in a quiet corner by themselves. A white-coated attendant quickly filled their water glasses and then vanished into the kitchen, leaving the men alone to talk. "What have you heard, Tom, about Bradley doing acrobatics and showing off for the younger pilots?"

"Nothing specific, sir. I know that he delights in participating in the regular ACT exercises and is one tough cookie in those encounters. Rex is one of the best, you know." "Yeah. I know, but I worry that he's set a bad example here that might have cost a man his life and the Air Force a multi-million dollar airplane."

"How so?"

"I just left the 288th mission planning area and was talking with some of the crews. They were trying to see what I might know about the investigation, when one young navigator suggested that Captain Cardoza might have been trying to out-fly his commander. Some body said that Cardoza bragged that he could do a Split-S at a lower altitude than Bradley had recently done one. What do you know about that?"

"Only scuttlebutt, sir. Nothing concrete, I'm afraid. Sure, Cardoza was a macho kind of guy and damn cocky, but I don't know of any specifics."

"So tell me then. Do you think that Bradley's showing off and performing a Split-S could have been a factor?"

"Well, he is the CO and he can set the example, rightly or wrongly, I suppose. And I don't know if there was any legitimate reason for his doing a Split-S, if he actually did so."

"Well, eat up. Let's get back. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

On the drive back to the squadron area and the simulator building, Tom told Colonel Kelly that things were ready for crews to start practicing the first competition sortie. And Kelly didn't indicate any reason why the exercise should be delayed. Tom dropped his companion off at squadron headquarters. Tom headed back into the simulator building and down the hall to the Tech Rep's office, once again to use the reasonably private phone there. He made is weekly call to General Harrison and reported readiness for the practice runs in the simulator. But Harrison wanted to talk mainly about the rumors that already reached his office that the crash was the result an over-zealous pilot performing unauthorized maneuvers, namely a Split-S at too low an altitude.

"I suggest you talk with Colonel Kelly on that, sir. He's over at the 288th offices now and looking into that speculation."

"Okay. I'll try him there. Damn, stupid show-offs. If this is true that pilot is lucky he got himself killed, 'cause I would have, well, you know."

"Yes, General. We're pretty upset down here too. I'll call you next week." Over at the 288th, Colonel Kelly conducted a 'closed door' meeting with Bradley, and it was a blunt, direct and pointed one.

"Rex, we've got a problem. Some of the troops tell me that you were performing risky and unauthorized acrobatics on your last ACT flight, specifically a Split-S maneuver. Is that true." "Yes, I suppose it is. So what's the matter?"

"The matter is that Captain Cardoza was reported to have claimed that if you could do a Split-S from 18,000 feet he could do it lower. And that may have cost him his life and the squadron an airplane."

"Now just a minute. You aren't trying to blame his crash on me are you?"

"I'm just suggesting that you set a poor example and those impressionable young pilots might have mis-read your actions." "Whoa. Hold on there, Colonel. I'm not responsible for what those fellows read or mis-read in my actions. They know what the rules are."

"Perhaps. But, they also know what you did and that was to ignore the rules yourself. That, intended or not, sets an example. A lousy one. I'm not saying that Cardoza was blameless here. Of course not. He never should have tried that stupid trick, especially at such a low altitude. And that stunt cost him his life. But your example has to be factored in here. Like it or not your actions could be considered as contributing to the accident. You cannot escape that."

"These guys might be going into combat at any time. It's my job to make sure they are up to the task and can handle themselves in combat life and death situations. That Split-S maneuver could help them get away from an enemy on their tail. They should know how to perform that instinctively."

"You may have a point, Rex, but you still have a responsibility for what your men do. And performing a Split-S at too low an altitude can kill just as certainly as an enemy shooting at you. Did you hammer that into their skulls?"

"Do you think the accident investigation team is out to get me on this?"

"I have no idea, but it wouldn't surprise me to see mention of your bad example in their report. As squadron commander you cannot escape your responsibilities in the leadership area."

"Shit. That's not fair. Are you going to tell 'em?"

"No, I won't have too, for Lieutenant Klein has already been interviewed and I suspect he will mention it."

"Yes. He probably will. Shit, all to hell. Are you and General Harrison going to hang me out to dry on this?"

"That's not my call, Rex. But based on the performance of the 288th under your command, if it was my call I'd replace you right now."

"That's it, Colonel. I'm not saying another word."

"Good idea. And you might be thinking real hard about how you will handle an interview with General Graham and the investigation team. I suspect they'll be calling on you real soon."

Meanwhile, over in the maintenance section, Simmons and his senior NCO's were gathering up all the records on repairs, inspections and servicing on the airplane just lost. They knew that the investigators would be asking for everything, and soon. It's routine following a crash.

Tom walked into Simmons office, on another matter, when he noticed the collection of data being assembled. He overheard two of the sergeants telling their boss that this was the lot. "You want this stuff boxed up, sir?"

"Yes. And let's put a seal on it, just to be sure that it stays safe. If the investigators take this stuff, I want a signed hand receipt, to be sure it's all accounted for."

Then Simmons noticed Tom standing in the doorway. "Kinda busy here, Tom. Is this important?"

"Important, but not critical, Nate. I just wanted to give you guys a heads up on the exercise starting on the 15th. I'll be by tomorrow morning. I'm going over to the camera shop now. Okay with you?"

"Thanks, Tom. Yeah, sure. Tomorrow. How about 9:00 o'clock?"

"See you then." And Tom left the area, heading down toward the camera shop. He wanted to see for himself the status of the camera inventory. Crews flying those competition flights should have operating equipment to start with. A small shop built onto one side of a hangar served as the camera repair and servicing facility. Dozens of heavy, large aerial cameras of many types were stacked on floor-to-ceiling metal shelves. Some were single frame cameras with interchangeable lenses, some large small format types, as well as a unique rotating prism panoramic type capable of horizon to horizon imaging. The dollar value of that equipment was well into the millions. Several enlisted folks and some NCO's were busily cleaning, servicing and repairing a number of these units, working on long work benches fitted with thick foam padding. Lenses got special care and handling, some with 6" focal lengths and others as long as 18", the latter used on oblique shots some distance away from the aircraft. Tom struck up a conversation with a Technical Sergeant who leaned over a collection of film magazines.

"Help you. Colonel?"

"No, not really. I'm just looking around to see how you fellows are doing and curious about whether or not there are enough cameras to support a special set of missions starting the middle of the month."

"Oh, special? How?"

"Headquarters is going to have all crews fly 10 missions over a 60 day period, a kind of competition. They'll start the flights on the 15th, eight a day. Four of the ten missions will include night targets, requiring photoflash cartridges."

"Is all this in addition to our regular sortie rates, sir?"

"No. Instead of, at least for the 60 days."

"Well then, I don't see any problem. That eight-a-day rate will not be any worse than we're doing now. We've got the equipment to do the job, unless of course you want all eight a day to have long lenses. We can only support but four at a time with the 18-inchers."

"That's the kind of information I needed to help in scheduling. Any other limitations I should know about?"

"No. We're in good shape in all other areas, but we use the real long lens cameras so little, we don't have a big inventory."

"Well, how about turn-around. If we have some guys fly at 0800, say half of the eight, and the rest at 1400 hours, could you handle that."

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On how much time we have between the landing of the morning sorties and the afternoon ones." "You'll have at least three hours."

"No sweat then. We can handle that, barring equipment failure, of course."

"Right. Gotcha. I'll keep Colonel Simmons fully informed." "You're new around here, ain't ya, sir?"

"Yes, kind of. I'm managing the flight simulator facility now, but working on this special set of missions too."

"Well, sir. Welcome aboard. You know we don't see many officers or crew folks down here in the shop. C'mon by any time."

"Thanks, Sarge. Will do. And, by the way, Colonel Simmons knows I'm here now." Tom shook the Sergeant's hand and headed back to the simulator, running into Colonel Kelly on the way. Tom saluted and greeted his old friend. They walked along together and chatted.

"How long you planning on staying this trip, sir?"

"Just one more night and then it's back to Langley. What I've seen and heard here is too much of a downer. This place badly needs a change of leadership, and I'm going to tell General Harrison exactly that."

"You want to go into town for dinner tonight?"

"Sure. That might be what I need to improve my outlook. Any place special?"

"Well, some of the guys have been telling me about Maria's Mexican Cafe. They say it's good, though Mexican in South Carolina could be most anything. I don't expect Tex-Mex."

"We could give it a try, I suppose. When I think Mexican though, it's some little mom and pop place in Clovis, New Mexico. That's where real Mexican food is at its best."

Chapter 8

The next morning Tom stopped by Nate Simmon's office to give him some of the details of the upcoming exercise and what it might mean for the Maintenance folks.

"Sorry about yesterday, Tom. I was swamped and didn't have time to chat. So what's happening? Any news on the crash?"

"No news, I'm afraid. The accident investigation team isn't giving out anything, at least down to my level. And I went to dinner last evening with Colonel Kelly. He didn't have anything to offer either."

"So? What was it you wanted to talk about yesterday?"

"I just thought you'd like to know that the squadron will be participating in a special exercise, starting on the 15th." And then Tom went on to explain the details, hoping that Nate and his people would appreciate how important this was, both to the outfit and to headquarters.

"You know, Tom, this is the first time anybody from Ops has ever bothered to let us know what's coming down the pike. Sure, we'll do our part and whatever we can to make it go smoothly. It's long past due for maintenance and Ops to communicate."

"To me it's absolutely essential for such communications. I guess it's my SAC background, but there we had lots of dialog. In fact, that makes me think that we could borrow an idea or two from them and apply it here."

"Like what?"

"Well, one thing that comes to mind is the joint Ops and Maintenance Review process. Representatives from both groups meet weekly to go over a variety of things. Problems, equipment failures, missed targets and a host of other topics are covered. And it's done with all concerned sections. Here we could include the camera shop, the avionics folks and the flight line managers. On the Ops side we need representatives from the flight crews, both navigators and pilots, and perhaps Colonel Smith or his representative."

"Sounds like this could become a finger-pointing session. Ops will claim that targets were missed because equipment didn't work and maintenance will blame the crews."

"It could turn into that, but with the right leadership and willingness of both side to discuss things objectively, better understanding and real improvements can be achieved."

"Well, I guess it might work. It could improve relations and perhaps morale by opening communications. But, who's going to initiate this review panel?"

"Let me think about it. I'll put some ideas on paper and see if I can tailor the SAC concept to the 288th. I'll get back to you. But as a start, I'd like to invite you or your representative to sit in on the flight briefings for the exercise kicking off next Wednesday."

"Yeah, Sure. I'll be there, at least for the first one. Then I might ask my section chiefs to take turns. They could bring an idea of what's going on to their troops, and that could be useful."

Shortly after noon, that Thursday, Colonel Kelly headed back to Langley. He hoped to get there before General Harrison left his office. Tom, in the meantime, worked with Colonel Smith to work on the flight crew schedule for next week. They agreed that crews would receive the mission details on Monday, right after morning roll call. That way they would have until Wednesday to get ready. And those who wanted to could get on the simulator schedule for pre-mission practice. They were told that it would be first come, first served for 90-minute sessions. It was not made mandatory. Bill Smith conducted the briefing for crews and reviewed the flight schedule. Two crews from each flight would fly each day, until Mission Number One was flown by all. An extra day was allowed for weather problems, so that by the sixth day they could start on the second mission, and so forth. If the weather day was not needed, flight crews would be off and maintenance folks would have the time for catch up, if needed.

Within minutes after the briefing, Major Collins gathered his flight of eight crews together for his own briefing. Each of his crews drew lots to see what simulator time they would get. The late evening times were least popular, but the drawing was the fairest way. Collins had already signed up the first eight available time slots on the simulator schedule. For his group, practice sessions would be mandatory.

The second crew in the 'box' had a little trouble with the low level 'area cover' grid and asked Sergeant Gray if they could re-fly that portion. They suggested that they didn't need to fly the leg back to home base, so could better use the time to re-fly the target. With just a few switch changes, the computer was set to the target entry point and the mission re-flown from that point. This time they got it right, without leaving target areas uncovered. They managed to get in twice the on-target in their allotted time.

In the mission planning room, comments among crews were quite varied about the upcoming #1 mission. A few fellows suggested it was a 'piece of cake' and predicted they would have no trouble at all. Others were concerned about the limited visual cues for lining up on the flight lines of the area cover grid. Flying ten 15-mile long photo lines, barely a third of a mile apart, without missing any spots or having to re-fly one or more, was indeed a tough challenge. They would not have enough fuel to re-fly missed lines. None of the crews were especially worried about the single, high altitude pinpoint target early in the mission. It was to be centered on the motor pool at Fort Stewart in Georgia.

Colonel Kelly returned to Langley AFB, arriving at 1300 hours. He proceeded directly to his boss's office to report on his observations at Simpson. The general was busy at the moment, so he went instead to his own office, where he was immediately greeted by his assistant with a preliminary report from the accident investigation team.

"Lieutenant Klein is on the mend and should fully recover. He's still in the Charleston hospital, where General Graham's people talked with him," reported the major.

"That's good news. Anything else?"

"Yes, sir. My source on the team says that they think Klein's ejection was not a contributing factor in the crash. They place the blame primarily on Captain Cardoza's attempt to fly the Split-S with insufficient altitude for a safe recovery. They say that Colonel Bradley's bad example and poor leadership would be included as a contributing factor. They found no pre-existing aircraft mechanical problems that might have caused the crash, but they admit that there's not much left of the airplane to evaluate that fully."

"Did your 'source' suggest when the formal report would be issued?"

"No. But he suggested that he'd be back here by the end of the week, so they're about done."

Colonel Kelly's phone rang. It was Lucy, saying that General Harrison was available now. "I'll be right there, Lucy. Thanks."

"Come on in John. How was your trip? Learn anything?"

"The place is still nice, but the 288th is a mess. I'm impressed with how Tom Anderson is getting things to turn around, improve communications and subtly motivate some to take advantage of that simulator. I don't think Bradley realizes that Tom is even doing it, though Bill Smith does."

"What's the reaction to the crash? Has that shaken Bradley any?"

"Not that I could tell, but I had a heart-to-heart chat with him and I have to tell you, sir, he's got to go. I told him flat out that he was failing to perform as a leader. And worse, I told him that I think his own bad example in flying his own Split-S may have contributed to the crash."

"What was his response?"

"Surprisingly unconcerned, a bit defensive and no sign accepting any of the blame. If it was my call, I'd retire the guy and find a new squadron commander."

"How about Bill Smith as the new C.O.?"

"Afraid not, General. Bill's a good guy, but not a leader. And the troops already know that Smith couldn't stand up to Bradley. I don't think they'd accept him as their leader."

"Well, then. Who?"

"Good question. Major Collins would be a good choice, but he's too junior? How about Tom?"

"Tom? Yeah, he'd be a good choice, except he's not a pilot."

"So what. Where is it written that is has to be a pilot in charge? I agree that Tom would be a good choice."

"Tradition, General. Flying outfits are always commanded by pilots. It's just the way it is. You'd have an uphill fight to get Tom into that slot. Hell, you'd have the Pentagon all over your butt."

"We'll see. So how's it going on the start of the competition? How are the crews responding to that challenge?" "It's a mixed bag. Some, like those in Major Collins' flight are getting with the program. Others show little to no special interest, except, of course, for the Las Vegas prize. I don't think Bradley has emphasized it very much, though Smith has done some of the preparatory work."

"How about Nate Simmons and the maintenance boys. Are they getting up for it?"

"An interesting thing happened on that score. Nate and a couple of his sergeants were there for the kick-off briefing. I heard that it was Tom who invited them. And getting the maintenance guys involved early is a good idea."

"You keep that up and I'll have you agreeing with me that Tom is the right choice to replace Bradley." Neither man knew that something different was about to occur down at Simpson, something involving Tom and Bradley.

Wednesday's missions, all eight of them, went like clockwork. Four sorties in the morning and four more in the afternoon seemed like a good start to the competition exercise. Thursday, however, there was a problem, at least for one crew, Colonel Bradley's. Bradley would have flown as part of the "A" Flight competition team, except that Major Harrigan, Bradley's regular navigator, suddenly came down with the flu and couldn't fly. Bradley had to have a replacement and couldn't figure out who to take.

Tom happened to be in the planning room, when Bradley got the word his regular navigator was temporarily grounded. "Anderson? You wanna fly this afternoon? I need a replacement navigator and you're it."

"Sure. I'll fly, but I'm not eligible to be in the competition. It is for the 288th crews and not visitors, you know."

"Hell. Don't worry about that. A-Flight is sure to win, with or without you. And if you'd rather, Harrigan can go to Vegas in your place. C'mon, let's show these young guys how it's done."

"Okay. I've got my charts ready and knew the route pretty well. I flew it in the simulator with Sergeant Gray. Ready when you are."

Takeoff at 1430 hours was still five hours away. Tom asked Bradley if he'd like to take a practice ride in the "box" first. There was an opening in the schedule.

"Naw, don't need it. Besides, hotshot, I've got you. Meet you at personal equipment at 1400. Be ready," he said laughing. Both men were suited up, ready and headed for the airplane in time for the 1430 flight. Tom took extra pains to check out his equipment, the cameras and such. Bradley made a cursory walk-around and climbed into the cockpit. Soon the ground crew fired up the power cart and checklists were completed. Engines started normally and Tom got the inertial navigation system aligned and set. Waypoints were entered in the computer. Soon they were ready for taxi out. Once airborne, Tom gave Bradley the first heading to fly to the high altitude pinpoint target down at Fort Stewart. He had to admit that Bradley was a natural pilot, smooth, savvy and capable.

At five minutes to go, Bradley said he'd guide them in for the target, using his front seat optical sight. Tom confirmed that cameras were ready.

"Ready, ready - Camera On," Bradley commanded. In seconds he confirmed that his optical crosshairs were right on the mark. "Got it. Camera Off."

"Next heading 1-2-5 degrees," Tom advised. "We remain at altitude until 60 miles out. I'll set my radar crosshairs on the initial point when we get there."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say. But, I'll call the shots when we get down low. You got that?" Tom didn't respond.

"Coming up on the start-descent point," Tom advised. The initial lineup point is a fork in a river, right off the nose."

`"Got it. I see the fork."

"Good. We want to cross the fork at 800 feet on a heading of 150 degrees and hold a steady ground speed of 480 knots. I'll start the cameras 15 seconds after passing the fork. The run takes two minutes."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it. You just keep quiet and I'll tell you when to turn those cameras ON or OFF. Standby."

The airplane leveled off precisely 800 feet above the ground and right on the proper heading. Tom held his hand above the camera switch, waiting for Bradley's call. It didn't come.

"You want the camera ON now? We just passed the start point."

"Oh shit. Yes. Camera ON." And the first half of the initial photo run was already past. A road and power line marked the end point. He got that okay and called for camera OFF.

Bradley planned on using a creeping racetrack pattern to cover the entire grid of flight lines to be used. Except he never told Tom what lines he planned to fly in what sequence. The left-hand pattern of standard rate turns and constant bank angles would take him progressively across the area to be photographed. Each turn involved a zoom up and let down, enabling the pilot to see better for aligning subsequent passes. It would have, that is, if Bradley hadn't been rattled by missing part of the first line.

Instead of being consistent and flying a uniform pattern, Bradley decided to tighten the first turn and take the second line out of sequence, hoping that the third line would be a re-fly of the missed first one. He never explained to Tom what he intended. Since Tom now had no idea at all of what Bradley would do next, all he could do was wait for the camera ON and OFF calls. The road served nicely as a reference at the one end, but there were no clear landmarks on the opposite end.

Bradley became confused. His impromptu change of plan resulted in missing one whole line entirely. After the last pass, Tom advised his pilot of the heading to take back to base, suggesting that they were getting low on fuel and had to go direct.

Once they leveled off at 26,000 feet, cruise altitude, Bradley asked Tom about the area cover just flown. Tom knew well that they'd missed one whole line and half of the first, but said nothing, except, "We'll just have to see what the film shows. The cameras worked okay."

Approaching the field, Bradley asked for and got tower clearance for a standard 360-degree overhead landing pattern. They flew over the runway to about the halfway point and banked 90 degrees into a hard left turn, descending as they came around for landing. The gear dropped just as they rolled out on runway heading. Bradley greased the landing for a smooth touchdown precisely 1000 feet down the concrete strip. He was a natural stick and rudder pilot.

As they shut down the engines and began to climb down to the ramp, Bradley asked Tom what he thought. Tom was short and direct in saying, "I think you should have taken that practice ride in the simulator first." He said no more.

By this time, Bradley was getting angry. He was angry at Tom, and at himself for messing up on the low level area coverage target. And he didn't much appreciate Tom's remark about the simulator, even though he knew now that Tom was right.

Walking back to the personal equipment section, to check in their g-suits, parachutes and survival gear, Bradley surprised Tom by asking, "You really think practice in the 'box' first would have prevented this fiasco today?"

"You're the one who said fiasco. I didn't. But, yes, Practice in the simulator would have given you an edge. You realize, of course, that it was your pride more than anything else that was your problem."

"Yeah, I guess so. I didn't want to admit that I needed help from you or anyone else. I didn't want to depend on a navigator, who might be second-guessing my every move."

"Well, there was a new wrinkle in this area cover grid that may have escaped you."

"Oh. What was that?"

"There was an extra line. This mission purposefully included one more flight line to test crew ability to adapt their pattern flying. You not only missed the first half of line #1, you missed one line entirely. You would have caught that by simulator practice first."

"That's sneaky. Why in the hell didn't you tell me?"

"You made it pretty clear that I wasn't to say anything. Remember what you said, Rex?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I guess so. Are there any surprises in the other nine missions?"

"Could be. You'll just have to wait and see. This is a competition, you know. Only the best will win that prize. And one more thing?"

"What?"

"Navigators aren't along to second guess anyone. They are team members who are there to help get the job done. It's not a contest between pilots and navigators. Never has been, despite the jibes and jokes that go around. Two heads are really better than one, you know."

Bradley didn't say anything, as they left the personal equipment shop and walked back to squadron headquarters. Tom said he'd see Rex later, as he headed over to the simulator.

Bradley walked into the 288th building, to be greeted by Bill Smith, who asked, "Well? How did it go?"

"Don't ask," was the curt, muttered answer. Bradley headed for his office to brood.

Friday afternoon the results of the crew performance on mission #1 was published by the photo interpreter people, the real experts on how well crews 'hit' the targets. A-Flight was dead last, scoring a disappointing 60%. Only C-Flight did really well, scoring a surprising 92%. The others were in between those extremes, but none over 80%.

When the details of Mission #2 were released to the crews in a morning briefing, Bradley stunned the assembled crews. "Gents," he began. "It's clear to me, belatedly, that C-Flight set the right example and that's why they are the leaders right now. And you know what their secret weapon was? It was Major Collins insisting that his crews practice before flying. The results show that he was right. So, I'm gonna eat some crow here and suggest that all of you do the same as C-Flight. Practice first and then fly."

What Bradley didn't know was that Collins had already booked the early simulator time slots for his crews. C-Flight was not going to let the others catch them. And when Major Harrigan returned, after recovering from his bout with the flu, he was surprised and amazed to discover that Bradley had them scheduled for a practice session.

Sergeant Gray was stunned by the sudden change in crew interest. The simulator was running 18 hours a day now and his staff felt overwhelmed. Tom said he'd pull a shift to ease the workload, but then did something more. He called Colonel Kelly and asked for some extra manpower. He asked Kelly to send three simulator operators from another base down to help, at least for the next two months on a TDY basis.

"Say that again, Tom. I don't think I heard you right. You say that suddenly your simulator is running 18 hours a day, every day? What in the hell happened?"

"I flew with Rex Bradley on the #1 mission. His navigator was sick." And then Tom explained what happened. When he got to the part about Rex admitting publicly that he was wrong and that simulator practice was a good thing, Kelly was stunned."

"Yeah. Okay. I'll have three guys sent to you right away. They'll be there in 48 hours. I'll be damned."

Later that day, Sergeant Gray got telephone calls from simulator specialists tagged to come to Simpson to help. Three NCO's, all seasoned operators were coming. Gray knew them from previous assignments and schooling together and he was delighted. Now he could give his regular crew a break, while providing the practice that the 288th crews needed.

The next morning, General Harrison called Tom at his office in the simulator building. "What did you do to Bradley? Hit him on the side of the head with a two-by-four? Kelly just briefed me on what's going on down there. Did I hear right? Has Bradley suddenly gotten religion or something?"

"Religion, sir? I doubt that. But he has come around to believe in the benefits of the simulator. And I think he scored big points with the crews by admitting he was wrong. He praised Major Collins and strongly urged the crews to follow C-Flight's example. There's no denying that C-Flight is walking away with the competition so far."

"Tom. I want you to come up here, tomorrow. Be in my office at noon. Can you make it?"

"Of course, General. What's up?"

"Can't tell you over the phone, but I need you here. You don't suppose Jenny would mind having you home for a while. Do you?"

Tom laughed. "No, General. Probably not. See you tomorrow." Sergeant Gray poked his head in Tom's office doorway. "Got a minute, sir?"

"Yeah. Sure. Come on in."

"I talked with the three TDY guys coming in to help. They are the best. Don't know how you did it, but we appreciate the extra hands."

"Well, you're going to be one short, I'm afraid. General Harrison just told me to be in his office at noon tomorrow. Sorry, but I won't be able to pull my shift to help your guys." "We'll manage, sir. My guys will be putting the TDY helpers to work as soon as they arrive. What's with the general?"

"I haven't a clue. He didn't say, but you know how it is. When the general says come, there's not much choice."

"You coming back, sir?" "I think so. I'll give you a call when I know what's happening."

"Thanks, Colonel. I'd appreciate that." Tom called Bradley to let him know that the general called. Bradley surprised Tom by saying, "Hope you're coming back, Tom. Never thought I'd say it, but you're what we need around here."

"Thanks, Rex. I'll be in touch."

Chapter 9

"Hi, hon. It's me."

"Tom. Where are you?"

"I'm at the Charleston airport, about to catch a plane to Newport News. I'll be home for supper."

"Wonderful. I'll bet you're ready for a home-cooked meal, instead of eating out all the time. I'll sneak away from work early and see what I can whip up. So, how come you're leaving Simpson?"

"The general called and said I was to be in his office a noon tomorrow. Don't have any idea what's going on, but what the heck. At least I get to see you. I'll be home shortly after six. Bye, love."

Tom hung up the pay phone and headed for the gate area. He'd be back in Virginia in two hours. Curiosity about what the general wanted was driving him nuts. Something's going on. But, what? As he sat there waiting for the flight to be called, he leaned over to reach a newspaper on the seat beside him. The headline on the afternoon edition surprised him. It read "BRAC Commission Recommends Closing Simpson". Tom read the article carefully, for he was wholly unaware that anyone was considering closure of the air base. It was a shock. But the more he read, the more he learned that it was all tentative, just talk and far from decided. Yet, this made him wonder if it was at all related to the general's call.

It was so good being home, home with his wife and in surroundings that felt comfortable. Living out of a suitcase down at Simpson left a great deal to be desired. And getting that delicious home-cooked meal, pot roast, his favorite, was especially nice.

Tom showed Jenny the article in the newspaper about the possibility of the BRAC Commission (Base Re-alignment and Closure) closing Simpson. She wondered if that would effect his current special assignment. Tom explained that the simulator could always be relocated, if indeed the base one day closed, but it probably would not be soon. Then Tom told her about the special set of missions and the prize of a Las Vegas trip. She didn't seem particularly impressed, regarding it as just another motivational ploy or extravagance at taxpayer expense. That didn't make Tom feel very good, but he didn't say anything, assuming that she couldn't appreciate what it took to get the troops, especially younger ones, to perform better.

The next morning, Tom stopped by briefly to say hello to Colonel Wilson, his regular boss in the 67th. Wilson was surprised to see him, for he had not expected Tom back for another three months or more.

"I hear that the 288th is flying some kind of special competitive set of training missions," Wilson remarked. "Scuttlebutt has it the Las Vegas trip is the key."

"Yes, sir. That exercise has fired up a little enthusiasm in the squadron and might help turn things around. Getting crews to practice missions in the "box" before flying seems to be working. One Flight that seriously trained in the simulator really creamed the others by scoring over 90%, an amazing improvement over past performance."

"So what are you back up here for? Is your TDY over?"

"No. I'm due in General Harrison's office at noon. I just stopped by to check in and say hello. Say, have you heard anything about Simpson being closed?"

"Are you serious? No. Not a word. Where'd you hear that?"

"It was in the Charleston newspaper yesterday. I just thought that there would be some rumors around here about it." "Nope. First I've heard of it."

"Well, I'd better go. I want to visit Colonel Kelly before meeting the general. I'll let you know later what's going on."

"Before you go, any word on that RF-4 crash? Has the accident investigation team issued their report?"

"I've not seen it. Maybe Colonel Kelly has. I'll check."

At 11:15, Tom stopped by Colonel Kelly's office. "Is he available?" Tom asked the secretary.

"Yes, sir. Go on in. I think he's expecting you."

"Good morning, Colonel."

"Come in, Tom. Have a seat."

"What's the meeting with the general all about, sir? Can you tell me?"

"No. What meeting is that?"

"You didn't know that I was called up from Simpson for a noon meeting with General Harrison?"

Kelly laughed, leaned back in his chair and replied, "Yeah, I know about it. I was just pulling your chain. But I think I'd better have him explain what's going on."

"Well, then, perhaps you can tell me about a couple of other things. Has the accident investigation team finished and issued their report? And, have you heard anything about Simpson being on the BRAC hit list?"

"The answer to your first question is, No. Their report isn't out. And, as for Simpson being on the BRAC list, This is the first I've heard of it. Where did you hear that?" Tom handed Colonel Kelly the newspaper he picked up yesterday.

Kelly scanned the front page and commented, "Hmmmm. I'll be damned. First I've heard of this. Wonder what they'll do with the 288th?"

"Are you in on this noon meeting, sir?"

"Yup. I'll be there. I think he's having it in the conference room, rather than his office. Some Pentagon types are supposed to be there too."

That comment really got Tom's curiosity aroused. He wondered what in the hell was going on here. Yet, all he could do was wait until noon to find out. At five minutes to twelve, Tom appeared in front of Lucy's desk.

She smiled at him and greeted him with friendly remarks about how good it was to see him and how nice the weather was. Then she said, "The meeting is in conference room 302, Colonel. It's down the hall on your left."

Tom approached Room 302, just as three colonels and a one-star general entered ahead of him. On passing through the doorway, he noted with surprise that there were a dozen people there already, every one senior to him. So Tom quietly took a seat at the back of the room. One of the folks at the table was Colonel Kelly. On seeing Tom, he nodded and smiled. The one-star turned out to be General Graham, head of the accident investigation team. That made Tom think that this would be a review of the RF-4 crash, but he couldn't be sure.

Soon, General Harrison came in. Everyone stood as he went to the head of the table. "Have a seat, please, gentlemen." Then, looking around the room, Harrison nodded greetings individually to several attendees. "Oh, there you are, Tom. Glad you could make it," he said with a small wave of his hand. The others turned around to see who it was that deserved the general's special greeting. Tom recognized only Colonel Kelly and General Harrison.

"Gentlemen," Harrison began. "There are several matters to cover this afternoon, but first I'd like General Graham to give us a summary report on the accident investigation. "Al, the floor is yours."

Graham stood at his seat and flipped through a small black notebook. He began by explaining what happened, when and where, revealing to the audience the particulars of how the RF-4 crashed while the pilot attempted to perform a Split-S maneuver with insufficient altitude. He recounted Lieutenant Klein's bailout and survival, including the rescue by local fishermen. He described the wreckage, its limited dispersal about the point of impact and other details very technical in nature. He then declared, "The principal cause of the crash was Captain Cardoza's reckless attempt to perform an unauthorized maneuver at an altitude which did not permit safe recovery. A major contributing factor was his commanding officer's display of poor judgement and lack of leadership."

Those condemning words hit the audience like a bolt of lightning, stunning some who'd known Colonel Bradley for many years. And then General Graham concluded my making several recommendations, most startling was that Colonel Bradley and his operations officer, Colonel Smith, should be removed from their positions in the 288th.

"Before we discuss the ramifications of General Graham's report, I'd like Colonel Kelly to provide more background on the 288th and their current activities. General Harrison pointed to Colonel Kelly, urging him to tell the group what the 288th was now doing in the just-initiated competition exercise. Kelly also stood and referred to notes.

"General. Gentlemen. The 288th is a squadron in trouble. They have failed a recent inspection and accumulated the worst performance of any RF-4 reconnaissance squadron in the command. But, that said, I am impressed by their apparent turn-around in response to a recently initiated competitive exercise, a series of special evaluation missions. We are using the carrot and stick approach here to get them motivated and pointed back on a proper course. The carrot is a short deployment to Las Vegas, with a weekend of R&R awarded to the best-performing Flight. To qualify they must fly a series of ten missions, each progressively more difficult. The minimum score to win is 80%, which is 30% higher than they have done at all recently. Two missions have thus far been flown by many of the crews. Results are very encouraging. In fact, one Flight, that of a Major Collins, scored 92%, average for all eight of his crews. Even the worst performing flight raised their scores above 60%."

General Harrison interrupted, saying, "John. I think it appropriate here to mention that the contest the 288th is undertaking, with encouraging results, was the brainchild of Lieutenant Colonel Tom Anderson, seated here in the back of the room." Again the audience turned to see this junior officer behind them.

"Right you are, General. And perhaps even more importantly, it was Colonel Anderson who convinced members of the 288th to take full advantage of the capabilities of their flight simulator to practice each competition flight. Major Collins' flight took Anderson's urging to heart and proved that practice really does make a difference. Tom was sent down to Simpson TDY to the 288th to work with the simulator group and it made a real difference."

Harrison now took the floor, also electing to stand before his audience. "I have been told just today that Simpson Air Force Base is definitely one of the bases to be de-activated, it's mission elements to be either relocated or transferred to the reserves. The BRAC commission has unanimously decided that Simpson will close. Now I won't get into the politics that may or may not apply here, but the decision is made and has been approved by the White House. That means there are three questions I ask you to consider."

General Harrison moved to a 'white board' at the front of the room. Removing his jacket, loosening his necktie and taking a marker pen in hand he wrote "Options". "It seems to me that we first have to settle the matter of leadership and command in the 288th. I have from several sources received strong recommendations that Colonel Bradley and Colonel Smith must be replaced. I tend to agree. Both men are eligible for retirement and should be encouraged to do so immediately. I prefer to let that happen without prejudice. They have, until recently, served with honor and distinction. It's time to let them go without a blemish on their records. Comments?"

A colonel off to one side of the general's seat asked, "Is it necessary to replace them at all, if the unit is disbanding?" "You might have misunderstood what the BRAC decision means, Colonel. The 288th is not being de-commissioned. It will continue to operate as a unit, but may soon do so as a reserve rather than a regular Air Force unit. If it remains an active unit it will need new leadership. It might not transfer to the reserves, however. That decision is for the Secretary of the Air Force to make."

General Graham raised his hand and Harrison acknowledged, "Anything to add, Al?"

"Yes, I just wanted to mention that part of the 288th's poor track record, including the factors related to the recent accident, has been due to a series of ineffective leaders. Colonel Bradley is the third commanding officer that unit has had in 23 months. We must be especially careful who we pick to replace him, and Smith, as well."

"Amen to that, Al. Our choices recently have not been good ones." Harrison looked around the room, hoping for more comments or suggestions. "Options? Gentlemen. Surely you have some ideas."

At the back of the room, next to Tom, sat a white-haired senior colonel. He stood up and asked, "General. If the 288th continues as an active unit, have you given any thought where they might be transferred? It seems to me that consolidation with another RF-4 unit would be worth considering."

"Yes, Colonel. I have considered that. It might make sense to create a jumbo squadron, just for RF-4's, one with perhaps 50 or 60 crews. The BRAC decision and other efforts to economize might make that a viable solution. It would be politically popular in some circles. But, it also eliminates an opportunity for some of our able people to command a unit. One less squadron means one less squadron commander. Consolidation has a down side too."

With no more comments forthcoming, Harrison suggested that they go on to the next topic. He said he'd let them know what his decision would be on change of leadership would be for the 288th. "The next topic is the notion of implementing similar competitive exercises at other units. Fighter and reconnaissance pilots and crew members are at their best when they compete, whether it's against an enemy in wartime or each other in peacetime. What do you fellows say to setting up similar exercise with other units?"

One hand shot up at the side of the room. "General. I agree that we should try that approach throughout the recon community, but why not carry that a next step to a command-wide competition?"

"You mean like the Strategic Air Command's annual bombing competitions?" the general responded.

"Yes, sir. Something like that would generate competition. And it doesn't have to be quite as elaborate as SAC used to do things, moving crews and support folks to a single competition base and all. That was expensive."

Harrison noticed other hands raised. In turn, he got several people to offer suggestions. Most seemed warm to the idea of creating interest, competition and 'espirit de corps' activities. Only a few mentioned the potential for added costs in tight times. One fellow even suggested that such competitions could be conducted in simulators, with all crews, regardless of their location, flying the same sets of identical missions. He said that would be cost-effective and encourage fullest utilization of simulators at all bases. Several folks around the room nodded their heads at the potential merits of his idea.

"Okay, then. I'll have Colonel Kelly's people send out a set of proposed guidelines for comment to you all. John, you take the lead on this and let's make it happen. Consider all of what we've heard here. Get back to me in, say, 60 days with your plan."

Colonel Kelly looked furtively around the room to make note of the specific names of people who'd spoken up. He craned to see their name tags so that he could contact them individually for more information.

"That's it, gentlemen. Thanks for coming. Those of you with specific suggestions on the idea of competitions, get with Colonel Kelly." And then General Harrison stood to leave the room. He caught Tom's eye and motioned for him to come along to the office. Tom acknowledged with a nod and soon headed down the hall to follow the general. Lucy told Tom to go right on in with the general, who was just a few steps ahead.

The general turned and told Tom to shut the door behind him. "Have a seat, Tom. We gotta talk."

"Yes, sir. What can I do for you?" "Things are happening pretty fast. Lots of things. With this BRAC decision I'll be up to my ears in politicians. I need to shift some of my workload onto your shoulders. Let me tell you what's happening." Tom opened his briefcase and reached for a notepad, just in case.

"First, I want you to take this with you down to Simpson," the general said, shoving a small box across his desk. Those are silver leaves for Collins. He's been promoted below-the-zone to lieutenant colonel." Tom slipped the small box with Collins' insignia into his briefcase. Harrison said, "I called in a few markers at the Pentagon and with the folks down at Air Combat Command. Like I said, I called in some markers. Now, let me tell you what it means to you. First, I'm retiring Bradley and Smith immediately. Both will be gone before you get back down there. If I don't, the accident report will cause them both a lot of grief and put black marks on their records. ACC agreed that they wouldn't press charges if I moved 'em out quickly. That's done. "Now, the hard part. You are now the new C.O. of the 288th and I suggest that Collins be your new Operations Officer for the transition period."

"Transition??" "Yeah, you are to oversee the transition of the 288th to become the 1201st Air Reserve Squadron. That has to be completed in the next nine months. Simpson is being de-activated as a regular Air Force Base and most of the assets will become part of the reserve forces. As reservists get checked out in the airplane, current crews will be transferred to other active duty outfits on a one-for-one basis. With 30 or so crews, you have very little time to get the replacements up to speed. And, the last two to leave will be you and Collins."

"What about the simulator facility and crew?"

"That's up in the air. I want to relocate it to the RF outfit in Idaho, but there is a lot of pressure to keep it at Simpson to support the reserves. The answer is, I just don't know. I can assure you that it will stay in place throughout the transition period."

"Will the 288th get to complete the competition exercise?" "Yes, and for two reasons. Firstly, I want to use that exercise to keep them on their toes, and to make sure that when they eventually transfer to other outfits they are as capable as you can keep 'em."

"What's down the road for me and Collins, after this job is done?"

"Fair question. I suspect that Collins will transfer to one of the other outfits and be an Ops officer there, or perhaps be in line to become a squadron commander. He might want to accept a reserve slot and become the new C.O. of the 288th, that is the 1201st, when you leave. And as for you, when this job is over, I just don't know. Could be most anything, from a headquarters staff position to the Pentagon. What are your druthers?"

"Right now, I haven't any idea. Why don't we discuss that as the transition of the 288th nears completion. I've got enough on my plate right now."

"You're probably right. One last thing. I want to go down to Simpson to formally transfer command of the 288th to you. I've got to be there to meet the locals with Base Commander Evans to fill them in on what's going to happen. Evans is going to need help too. And, I want to be there for the retirement announcements for Bradley and Smith. It's my responsibility to bite that bullet. Also, I have to meet with the governor and local officials to explain what this base transfer means to them and the local economy. Politics, you know. And I want to talk to your crews to tell them what's going to happen. They've no doubt heard a lot of rumors about the base closing and wonder what their futures hold. I'll go down tomorrow and you be there the next day. Okay?"

"Of course. Whatever you say, but I'm curious about why you want me to come down a day later."

"Well, I'll be tied up with a bunch of politicians, for one thing. And I don't really want Bradley and Smith to get bent out of joint by you becoming the new CO. Comprende?"

"Oh, sure, that makes sense. Guess that'll give me another day to explain to Jenny about my transfer. This will be a PCS, won't it?"

"Yeah, but let's not make it effective until your current TDY orders expire. That'll give you time to make plans and arrangements for the PCS move."

Tom decided not to go back over to see Colonel Wilson, just yet, to let him know of the assignment change. He didn't want the grapevine to buzz too loudly with the news of a navigator being assigned to replace a pilot as commander of the 288th. He'd hold off saying anything until General Harrison made the official announcement. And besides, Tom couldn't quite believe it himself. He might wake up and find this was all a dream.

Chapter 10

At home that evening, Tom met Jenny at the door when she got home from work. "We're dining out tonight, my sweet. You want to go as you are, or change into something more casual before we go.?"

"Depends, hon. Where are we going and how dressed up should I be?"

"We could go to the Club, or downtown, where ever you want. I have some news and this will be a kind of celebration."

"News? What kind of news? Good or bad?"

"I think it's terrific news, and I hope you will too." "Okay, I'll keep this suit on. Just let me powder my nose and I'll be ready in ten minutes. Okay?"

Soon they were driving back out to Langley and the Officers Club. It was a quiet night, the dining room was barely a third full. The hostess gave them a nice quiet table off to one corner. After Tom ordered some wine, they looked over the menu to decide what they'd have.

"So? What's the surprise?" Jenny impatiently asked.

"Wait until the wine comes. Then I'll tell you. Okay?" The bottle of cabernet, a California selection, was one of Jenny's favorites. Soon two glasses were poured and each raised one. Tom looked at his curious, smiling wife and said, "Can you keep a secret until Saturday?"

"Yes. Yes, but what is it. Darn you. I'm dying to know what's the news." Then Tom told her of his selection to be squadron commander of the 288th. He explained what a big deal it was for a non-pilot to be chosen to command a fighter squadron. This had to be a first, he explained. And then he told her this wasn't public information until General Harrison made the official announcement. Jenny was not nearly as excited as Tom seemed to be. It bothered him that she was somewhat passive and not enthusiastic. Soon she quietly tapped her glass against his and responded, "That's nice, my dear. Congratulations. I'm very proud of you." Tom was taken a back by her tepid response. He hoped that she would share his joy, but instead it was just a polite response.

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Don't you think this is good news?"

"I do, and I don't. I know it's important to you and I'm truly pleased that the Air Force thinks so highly of my guy. But I have really misgivings about two things. I'm sorry, but I really do."

"Misgivings? About what?"

"Don't get me wrong, my love. I am proud of your selection for this job and happy for you. But, this will surely mean a permanent move down to South Carolina. I'll have to give up my job with Tidewater, just when I've really shown I can make a difference. Moving now is something I really hate to do,

especially now."

"I appreciate that, Jenny. And you won't have to leave just yet. General Harrison told me to continue in my TDY status until the orders expire. But, in three months I'll have to make the move permanent. And then I want you to join me."

"That brings up my second concern, Tom. You say it'll be a permanent move, but for how long? What happens after you've converted the squadron to the reserves? Where will you go then? This is just an interim job. Sure, it's a feather in your cap to be the first navigator to command a jet squadron, but it's not a permanent thing? What's next? And where?"

"Look, Hon, we both knew that my Langley assignment would end one day. A transfer to someplace else would be certain when my tour of duty was up here. This job with the 67th couldn't last forever either. You would have to leave Tidewater some day."

"Yes. I knew that. It's just that things have been going so well and I know the company is pleased with my work. I even expect a bonus for what I've helped accomplish recently. It's hard to think about having to leave, especially now."

"Okay, then. Let's say that we wait six months for you to make the move. That'll give you a chance to get used to the idea. And in that time I'll have on-base housing for us. You can keep the townhouse here until then. I'm not worried about our being able to sell the place, not in this market. The only crunch will come when my TDY orders run out and I no longer draw per diem. Then I'll have to give up my quarters allowance to take base housing, and we'll be paying on the townhouse too. That'll bite some."

"Yes, I suppose we could do that, but by then your nine-month job will only have six months to go and we'll be facing yet another move. What then?"

"Hmmmm. Well, then, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we get there. Does that mean you won't be coming down to South Carolina?"

"No. I'm not saying that. I just want to talk through what's ahead for us. I know how important this job promotion is to you, and I really am proud of you. I just have some very mixed feelings about all of this. My job and what I have worked for is important to me too. But I did agree when we got married that your career comes first. It's just so hard, especially now."

Tom reached across the table and held Jenny's hands. "Look, sweetheart. I understand. So let's leave it this way. You stay here until I find out how things are going down at Simpson. Maybe I'll know in three months what's ahead for me after the transition job is done. And who knows? It might be a headquarters job back up here. So, we'll keep the townhouse and I'm sure we can manage our finances to cover two house payments. Okay?"

"Thank you, Tom. I didn't say that I wouldn't come down to South Carolina. I just need to know more about it all, and to think about my job at Tidewater. So. How about some coffee and dessert?"

Just as the waiter was bringing their coffee, and a single piece of chocolate cake, which they decided to share, they heard from across the room a greeting call. It was Colonel Kelly and his wife, about to leave the dining room. Neither couple was aware of the other being there.

"Hello, Jenny. How's this fellow treating you? Oh, I see. He's trying to fatten you up with that big slice of cake."

"We're sharing, John, really. It's not all for me. Hi there, Sue. Won't you folks join us for coffee?" Jenny invited. The Kellys sat down. More coffee cups were quickly brought by the waiter.

"Hey, Sue. That cake looks good. You want to share a slice with me?" he said longingly.

"No, John. And you don't need it either."

Kelly looked at Jenny and asked, "So, has Tom told you yet about his new job?"

"Yes, and I'm proud of him for being chosen. We were just discussing what the move would mean, to both of us. But this isn't supposed to be public yet, is it?"

"You're right Jenny. It isn't. Now that you know too, that makes just six or eight in the whole Air Force that know. General Harrison is going down there tomorrow to take care of some stroking of politicians about the base closing. Then he'll meet with the 288th and announce both Tom's job and the transition process. Tom has a big job to do and will need your help."

"What can I do? I don't know anything about those men or the work they do. I've never even been there."

"That's not what I meant Jenny. I mean that Tom will need you, just to be there and provide moral support when things get rough, and believe me, they will." Jenny looked at Tom.

"No, sweetheart. I didn't put John up to this. I swear." John looked a little puzzled. He and Sue exchanged glances. Then he turned to Jenny and asked, "What's going on here? Have I said something I shouldn't?"

"No, John. Tom and I were just discussing whether or not I should go down there with him. We'd just about agreed that I would stay here on my job for a while, at least until we know what's in store for Tom after the transition job is done."

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry for butting in, but as long as I have, I think having you there will be a big help for Tom in his difficult job ahead."

Sue nodded in agreement. "I know it's hard for you to give up your job, Jenny. I've been there. But, I agree with John that your presence will be important here. Isn't it more important that our husbands need us than some employer?"

"What do you mean?" Jenny asked, an expression of concern and a bit of sadness spreading over her face. She looked upset and perhaps even close to tears.

"Please don't get me wrong, Jenny. But I once had a career as a school teacher. I was good at it too, and then one day I had to decide which was more important, my marriage or my career. Believe me, I made the right choice. Sure, I had regrets at the time and I was angry at the Air Force for making me choose. But, for me, it was the right decision."

"So, Tom. When are you headed back down to Simpson?"

"I'll be there the day after tomorrow. We're still pressing on with that competitive exercise and I want to make sure the crews keep their eye on the ball. With the distractions of a change of leadership, the prospects of conversion of the 288th to the reserves and concerns about their own career prospects, I'll have my hands full keeping them pointed in the right direction."

"Well, if anybody can do it, I know you can, Tom. Good luck. And if I can help, don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Thanks, John. Will do." And all four got up to head home. It was already 9:30 PM and tomorrow is a work day. At breakfast the next morning, Jenny asked Tom if he was going to haul any more stuff down with him. "You could ship some boxes via UPS or something."

"Haven't decided, Hon. I may just have to come back up here one weekend to do that. But, I don't think I'll need anything this trip."

"You know, Tom. I did a lot of thinking about what Sue said last night. I think she was right in telling me to get my priorities straight. What good is a career behind you when you're old and gray, and nobody beside you to share your golden years?"

"Old and gray? Golden years? Boy, you are being philosophical, worrying about old age. You're a long way from that, angel. A Long way."

"Not as far off as you might think, Tom. We're both just past 40 and in ten years we'll be thinking more about retirement. You'll have your 30 years in and they will force you out. John and Sue are about that age now and have their priorities sorted out, I could tell. Maybe it's time for us to think more about that. I'm glad we talked with them last night."

"I'm not really into all of this, so let's just say that we'll try this separation for a while. If it doesn't work out, maybe I can still convince you to join me at Simpson. We don't have to decide today."

"You're right. So? What are you going to do all day? You don't have to leave until tonight? Do you?"

"I'm going over to the Pentagon and talk with the guys in the Reserves office. I need to understand more about how that outfit works and what's expected of their flight crews. You know that in my whole career I've had no dealings with reserve outfits. I've met individuals who were reservists on temporary active duty, but haven't a clue how reserve outfits work. It's time I found out, before I do something stupid."

"Okay. I'll see you for supper here tonight and then take you to the airport for your 8:00 PM flight to Charleston. Later, love." And Jenny kissed Tom as she headed out the door for work. Tom got dressed and drove north to the Pentagon. It took him two and a half hours, plus half an hour to find a spot to park in the visitors' lot. Most places were reserved for generals, admirals and VIPs'. A lowly lieutenant colonel held no status at all in this domain. It was a three block walk to the main entrance and Tom was thankful it wasn't raining.

After gaining access through two layers of check points, with civilian guards at one and uniformed military at another, he found his way to the Air Force Reserve Affairs Office. A colonel greeted him. It disappointed Tom, that the colonel knew nothing at all about the 288th becoming the 1201st. But at least he knew who to call for information.

Soon Tom was pointed down the corridors toward another office where he found a major aware of the upcoming change. Two hours later, Tom had a better understanding of what the 1201st would be doing and where it fitted in the total structure of active and reserve forces. He never explained to the people in the Pentagon precisely why he needed to know about the reserves, and they didn't ask. Even though the base was to be closed, officially, by the BRAC decision, its transfer to the reserves would keep it almost as busy as it was now.

Tom couldn't figure out how that was going to save defense and taxpayer dollars, but that decision was way above his pat grade. "Politics, politics," he muttered to himself as he headed toward the main Pentagon entrance. He couldn't resist stopping briefly in the lobby area to visit the government printing office store. They sold collector sets of airplane pictures he wanted for later framing and display in his office. He found what he wanted and left the store. Looking around that huge lobby, it reminded him of some railway stations with their collection of shops, restaurants and services. Even a barber shop seemed busy with customers from all services. In many way the Pentagon was a miniature city all its own, but Tom was not anxious to be assigned there, ever.

Supper that evening with Jenny was bitter sweet. He hated to have to leave her, yet he was excited about getting back down to Simpson and starting his challenging new job. Jenny felt guilty about not coming with Tom, but she felt as well the importance of what she was doing at work. More than that, she felt uneasy and unsure about how their relationship would stand up to the stress and strain of the separation. Yet some inner voice told her to trust her instincts and wait out the next few months before deciding to make a drastic change. She and Tom had weathered brief separations before and could do so here. The next few months would challenge their marriage, and Jenny knew that only too well when she dropped Tom at National Airport. A two career couple could really test relationships. Yet, she never for an instant doubted Tom's faithfulness or enduring love. And neither did he.

Chapter 11

Tom arrived at his VOQ room shortly after 11:00 PM, finding a note attached to his door. It told him to call General Harrison at the VIP unit, even if it was late. A sleep voice answered. "Yeah, who is it?"

"It's Tom Anderson, General. I found the note on my door just now. Did I wake you?"

"No, Tom. I was sitting here reading and guess I dozed off."

"Anything new happen that I should know about?"

"No, not really. My meetings with the local politicians went about as expected. They're mad as hops about the base being closed, but relieved that the reserve outfit will stay on."

"How did it go with Colonel Bradley and Smith?"

"That was not easy. Smith took it pretty well, almost relieved in fact. He's headed for his family farm in Tennessee. Bradley wasn't as sanguine though. He feels he's been shafted. I gave it to him straight though. And when I explained that ACC was getting ready to courts martial him, he accepted the directed retirement as the better of two choices. He's already left the base for a driving tour out west, I think. He hinted that he'd try to fly with the airlines or something, but as a fighter jock that won't be easy. Airlines want multi-engine pilots."

"Do the guys know yet that I'm replacing Bradley?"

"No. And that's why I wanted you to call me tonight. Meet me for breakfast at the O. Club, say around 7:30, and we'll go to the squadron together. I'll tell 'em then. Smith already spread the word that there will be an 'all hands' meeting at 0930."

"Yes, sir. See you at 0730. Guess I'd better hit the sack." "Yeah. Me too, Tom. See you in the morning. Good night."

After breakfast the next morning, Tom drove General Harrison over to the 288th. It was about 9:15 when they arrived. Anticipation was high as crews, staff and maintenance people milled around waiting for the meeting to start. Smith's last official act was to notify the troops to be there, but Smith was not around. In fact, there wasn't anyone in charge. Major Collins herded as many folks as he could into the briefing room and tried to generate some order and sense of decorum. He was on the stage telling people to settle down and be ready for the general's arrival.

As General Harrison came into the room, Collins shouted "Attention, gentlemen. General Harrison is in the room." Some stood at attention and others continued milling around, until they saw the general, accompanied by Tom, start down the aisle. General Harrison strode to the front of the room, turned and said, "Be seated, gentlemen. Please, have a take your seats." Major Collins jumped down off the stage and saluted the general, saying apologetically that the men weren't sure what was going on. "It's okay, Major. Just find yourself a seat and I'll explain to the men."

As General Harrison climbed the steps to the stage, the room suddenly quieted down. In seconds you could have heard a pin drop. The anticipation was intense as all eyes focused on the general.

"Good morning, gentlemen. I've come down here to fill you in on a number of things, and to put to rest a host of rumors going around. I may even confirm some of what you've heard, so let's get started. First, I want to introduce your new squadron commander. Many of you already know him, but probably never expected he would become your new CO. Lieutenant Colonel Tom Anderson has been chosen to be the first navigator to command a jet fighter squadron. It's a precedent setting choice, I know. But it's a good one and I'm proud to be here to officiate this change of command. Tom, Come on up here."

To Tom's delight and great surprise, the room stood and gave him an ovation he never expected. Tom saluted the general, who returned it and then shook his hand.

"You have anything to say, Tom?" asked General Harrison. "Not right now, General. I think the men would rather hear from you and your explanation of what's going to happen in the 288th at Simpson." Soon the audience settled down and General Harrison continued. He explained about the BRAC commission and its decision to close Simpson, as well as the political pressure applied to the Pentagon and ACC to keep some operations going. He explained the decision of the White House to convert the base, over the remainder of the physical year, just nine months, to an Air Force Reserve facility, plus transfer of selected South Carolina Air National Guard activities. He told them that the 288th would gradually become a reserve RF-4 outfit, known as the 1201st Air Reserve Squadron.

Then he told them that all 288th pilots, navigators, maintenance and support personnel would be transferred to other ACC outfits by the end of the transition period. He reminded them that the competitive exercise would continue as planned, including the Las Vegas prize. Finally, he went into considerable detail to explain why Colonels Bradley and Smith were relieved of their duties and moved into retirement. ACC cannot and will not tolerate the lack of discipline and professionalism, which cost Captain Cardoza his life and the American taxpayer a multi-million dollar aircraft. Flying safety, professionalism and unit performance were important and must priority one.

Then, just as he finished, he invited Tom back up on the stage. He whispered in Tom's ear and motioned him to the rostrum. Tom reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. Then he asked Major Collins to come forward. As Collins strode across the stage and stood before his new squadron commander, Tom announced that his first official act was to designate Lieutenant Colonel Collins as the new 288th Operations Officer.

Collins was dumb-founded by that. His mouth opened and he stood there in shock and surprise. General Harrison took the small box, containing the pair of silver leaves, and pinned the new insignia on Collins' shoulders. Simultaneously, the room broke into applause and cheers. Collins saluted the general, then Tom and turned to the audience. They kept applauding. Tom raised his hands to quiet the room. Soon things settled down and LTC Collins stepped down, returning to his seat.

"Settle down, gents. General Harrison has agreed to stay a little longer to answer your questions. One at a time please."

A hand off to one side of the room shot up. General Harrison pointed to the young captain and asked what was on his mind.

"Does this mean, General, that we will be replaced by reserve crew members? Individually or by crew?"

"Over the next nine months, Captain, the 288th will train and replace crews one-by-one. Once new crews are designated combat ready by Colonel Anderson, transfers will commence for you on a crew basis. Some of you will head for Texas, others to Idaho in RF-4 outfits. A few of you will be chosen to transition into the new F-15's at Luke AFB in Arizona. The selection process will be conducted at ACC headquarters and at my office at Langley. We will attempt to give crews a choice of assignment, but the needs of the air Force must come first."

A front row lieutenant raised his hand. After the general pointed to him he asked, "Does Colonel Anderson's selection as CO mean that other navigators, like me, can anticipate command opportunities in the future?"

General Harrison smiled, and without being specific responded, "Well I hope so, Lieutenant. It's about time, don't you think?" And at that every navigator in the room applauded, while most of the pilots showed mixed reactions.

"Yes. You Captain, in the back of the room. Do you have a question?"

"General?" the major asked as he rose to stand, "What criteria will apply for ACC to select pilots for the F-15 assignments? And can I volunteer now?"

"That's not been fully established, Major. But, I can tell you that crew performance in the competitive exercise will be important. It's time for 288th crews to show their stuff. I'll have some input into the choices and I'll definitely consider performance down here." The major sat down, not wholly satisfied with the answer, but impressed with the need to work harder, better and smarter.

After about a dozen other questions were asked and answered, the room fell quiet. General Harrison thanked the members of the 288th for their interest and attention to the information presented. As he started down the steps of the stage, Collins shouted, "Attention" and the whole room stood while Harrison walked down the aisle, followed by Tom.

Just outside the doorway, General Harrison stopped to chat with Colonel Simmons. "Tom will brief you and the flight leaders about the transition process, Nate. You and your maintenance troops will stay where you are until the reserve people are ready to take over. I hope you will continue the outstanding job you've been doing. Tom's depending on you, and so am I."

Before leaving the building to take the general to his waiting T-39, Tom asked Collins to call a meeting at 1:00 PM for all flight leaders. "Ask Colonel Simmons to join us too, please. See you then. We'll meet in my office."

"Well, Tom. You've got your work cut out for you. And though it wasn't apparent in the briefing room, you can expect some disgruntled pilots to try to give you a hard time. Some fellows here thought the world of Bradley and won't take readily to a navigator being their boss. Good luck, my boy."

In minutes the T-39 taxied out, headed for the runway. Tom waved to the general, saluted and returned to his car. He knew full well that he had a big job ahead, and would need the good will and cooperation of lots of folks. He also knew that he would have to deal with a wholly new set of headquarters folks, the Air Reserve commanders and staff. There were busy times ahead.

Tom returned to his office, and before taking time to talk with several waiting to see him, he asked them to wait a few minutes while he headed for the telephone. He called Colonel Kelly to tell him that General Harrison was just now taking off, returning to Langley.

"How did it go, Tom?"

Tom explained that it appeared to go very well. "Time will tell, sir. I'm just now feeling the weight of my new responsibilities. It kinda hit me as I was headed back to the office from the flight line, after the general taxied out." "Welcome to the club, Tom. Being a unit commander is a full time job, as you are about to find out. Take some advice from someone who's been there. Pick your best men and delegate. Delegate, my friend. You have to delegate authority to get the job done. It's just that you can't delegate the responsibility. That will always rest on your shoulders. You're in command now."

"Yes, sir. But don't be surprised if I call you from time to time for advice."

"Any time, Tom. Call me any time. And thanks for the update on the general's visit. Good luck."

Chapter 12

The small office was crowded, but Tom's meeting with his flight leaders and Nate Simmons would be short. "The first order of business, fellows, is to select a flight leader to replace Colonel Collins. Now that he's our Operations Officer, we need a replacement in his old job. I'm not limiting choices to C-Flight, just the best man we can find."

Collins suggested Major Kovacs. "He's an instructor pilot and a level headed guy."

"We don't have a whole lot of choices, sir. It should be one of the majors and we only have five to choose from. You're not considering a captain, are you?"

"No, Tim. One of the majors will have to be it. It wouldn't be fair to any of the five to put a captain in a slot they've already got the rank for. But I want a strong, capable flight leader. As Ops Officer, you and your flight leaders will have to take on all pilot-related management. And while we're at this, I want to nominate some other fellows for specific jobs too."

The three other pilots, Gibbs, Stevens and Corning, agreed with Kovacs as a good choice. He wasn't the most senior major, but he was a steady, dependable instructor and flight examiner. And he had the reputation of being the best instrument pilot in the squadron.

"Okay, gents. Let's go with Kovacs." And turning to Collins, Tom asked him to tell Kovacs of his new duties. "Let's cut official orders on this, and for the rest of you flight leaders. I want it on your records that you are in leadership positions. And, with Kovac's appointment, he assumes responsibility for Effectiveness reports on all pilots in C-Flight."

Gibbs asked Tom what other job appointments he was thinking about. "Well, Chris, I want somebody to be our Flying Safety Officer. I noted that we were supposed to have one all along, but Bradley never designated anybody. It really should be a pilot, don't you think?

"Yes, sir. But the best-qualified man I can think of is Captain Hagen. He's pretty junior, but he has been through the flying safety officers course. Nobody else has, that I know of." Collins agreed and suggested that the job didn't really call for seniority, just a qualified pilot.

"Okay, that's settled too. Let's cut orders making Hagen's appointment official too."

"Tom? I appreciate your inviting me here to sit in, but I really have to get back to work. Was there anything specific you wanted maintenance here for?"

"Yes, Nate. I wanted to get you and your branch chiefs on board with the weekly Ops/Maintenance review sessions we talked about. It's important that your guys know what crews are up to, and even moreso for them to know what's going on with maintenance."

Turning to his flight leaders, Tom explained how he wanted weekly meetings with representatives from operations and maintenance to review all aircraft discrepancy write-ups, lost or missed targets, and equipment problems, upgrades or changes which effect the mission of the 288th. "We're a team here, not adversaries. If we've got problems, it's important for us to know where they are, how to fix 'em or maybe even how to live with 'em. And I wanted you guys to get to know each other. I'm told that very few of you fellows even know each other's names and that even fewer have been down in the maintenance area to see how hard Simmons' people work to keep us flying."

Turning to the flight leaders, Nate invited them and their crews to come over to his shops for a tour and see what it takes to keep the aircraft and systems operational. Then he suggested that the weekly review meetings could be held in his area.

"Sir, I'll work with Colonel Simmons to set up these reviews and schedule the right folks to participate," Collins suggested.

"Great. Let's see how it works out. And, speaking of how things are working out. Aren't we about due to start flying the Number Three missions routes soon? Are the crews taking advantage of the simulator practice on this one?"

"Well, C-Flight certainly has, because I insisted on it," replied Collins.

"What do you say, fellows?" he said looking at the other flight leaders. "Are you going to schedule your crews too?" They all nodded, but Tom could tell their enthusiasm was mixed.

"Ned, you've got to check on the tankers needed to support Number Three sorties. As I recall this is the first profile that requires tanker support. Have we got confirmation from ACC headquarters yet?"

"I'll get on that this morning, sir. Anything else?"

"No, gents. That's enough for now. We've got work to do. Meeting's adjourned."

As the group got up to leave, Tom told Collins that he was headed over to Colonel Evans office to introduce himself and get to know him a bit. "I've never even met the man, but I wouldn't want to be in his shoes, with the base closing and all. His phone if probably ringing off the hook with calls from everybody, from the mayor to the city dog-catcher wanting details of the closure. Hold the fort, Ned, See you later."

Tom walked up the steps of the two-story WWII vintage white painted base headquarters building. The place had been painted so many times since it was built, Tom mused that it was probably the paint that held it together. One entering, he noted that the old wooden floors creaked. This is really a fire trap, he thought as he looked around. Up on the second floor, right above the main entry door, was Colonel Evans' office. The view from his windows overlooked the parade ground, that football field sized grassy area surrounded by tall trees. Tom opened the outer office door and introduced himself to the base commander's secretary. She stood up, a tall attractive girl who was a head taller than Tom.

"I'll see if he's available, Colonel. One moment please." Soon Colonel Evans came to his inner office door and greeted Tom warmly. Evans was a tall one too, Tom noted. Must have been a college basketball player a few years back.

"Come on in Colonel. General Harrison told me many good things about you. Congratulations on your new command. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir. It's quite a challenge, but I'm proud to have been given the opportunity."

"So, what can I do for you?"

"This is just a courtesy call, Colonel. I wanted to say hello and get to meet you."

"Well, darn glad you did. I'm looking forward to meeting your wife too. Her name's Jenny, I'm told."

"Yes sir. But it may be a while before she comes down here. She's a working gal with a terrific job she's not keen on leaving, back up in the Hampton Roads area. When the dust settles a bit, I'll work on getting her to come down here."

"Sure. I understand. So, my friend, where are you staying?" "I'm in the VOQ, sir. Have been for a couple months now, before I got this job."

"Well. That won't do for a squadron commander. Let me call the housing office and see what we can do about getting you a house."

"I can't just now sir. I'm still on TDY status and my finances would suffer if I took base housing just now. Perhaps the guest units would be a better choice, at least for the next few months. Is that possible?"

"Good idea. Let me check." And Evans dialed the housing office. "Mort? This is Colonel Evans. You got any of those VIP housing units available? I've got the new 288th Squadron Commander here in my office and he needs temporary quarters, at least until his stuff gets here. Can you fix him up?"

Tom thought that if anybody could get him into one of those units, surely Evans could. So he was surprised to hear the next exchange. "What? None available? Who's got them now?" Evans looked puzzled.

"Already? Oh no. I wish those guys would let me know when they're coming. Hang on." Evans held his hand over the phone and told Tom, "The brass from Air Reserve headquarters on the base now. Some kind of survey group. Sorry, but I can't get you in now."

"That's okay. I understand. How about reserving a unit over the Memorial Day weekend. Jenny's coming down then to look the place over."

"Mort. How about reserving a unit for Colonel Anderson and his wife over Memorial Day weekend. Can do?" He waited a few seconds for the response. "You can. Good. Sign the colonel up for all of that weekend. And let me know if you can get him into a unit after those Reserves guys leave. Not possible. How's come?" Evans shrugged his shoulders and put the receiver back on the hook.

"Sorry, Tom. All I could get you in was for the holiday weekend. Those Pentagon guys have booked the units up for several months, Mort says. Damn. I wish they'd show at least the courtesy of letting me know they're coming."

"No problem, sir. At least Jenny and I can use one over the weekend, when she comes down. Thanks anyway. But, if those guys give you any information relative to the start of transitioning reserve crews into the RF-4's, give me a holler. Will you?"

"Of course, Tom. And once again, welcome aboard."

That evening, after a late supper at the Club, Tom called Jenny. She was just getting ready for her bath and then early to bed.

"Hi, Hon. It's me."

"You sound tired, Tom. Things hectic down there?"

"No more so than usual, I guess. I'm just beginning to realize how complicated and demanding it is to be squadron commander. The phone never stops ringing and I've got a steady stream of folks wanting to bend my ear about something or other. Goes with the territory, I guess. But I sure could use one of your special shoulder massages right now."

"Oh. Poor baby. Sorry, but I can't quite reach you from here."

"I know, but it sure would be nice."

"Have you decided to take base housing yet?"

"No. Not until my TDY is over. While my home base is still officially Langley we can continue to draw that housing allowance to help pay for the townhouse. The minute I PCS down here I'll have to live on base and there goes the housing allowance. Money will get tight when that happens."

"Oh yes. I didn't think of that. I was more concerned with you having a better place than that VOQ room. What about the guest houses? Can't you get into one of them?"

"Not right away."

"Okay, Hon. You work on that and I'll make plans to be there over Memorial Day. How's that?"

"Wonderful. That'll be great. I'm a step ahead of you, sweetheart. I've got reservations already. I knew you'd come down."

"You did?"

"Yup. I had a feeling about that. Well, I'm headed for the sack. Another busy day tomorrow, I'm sure. Goodnight."

"Bye, Hon. I'll call you when I get my flight. Love you."

Tom lay there in bed, unable to get to sleep. He wondered if he was really ready to take on all the responsibilities of being a CO, and how it would go with those pilots who'd never reported to a navigator. Was he in for a rough ride? And what about those reservists from headquarters. What were they up to? Questions and more questions bothered him, but he had no answers. It was well after midnight before he finally fell asleep.

Chapter 13

Tom awoke the next morning with the realization that something about the 288th was amiss. It wasn't until he was in the middle of shaving that it came to him. The squadron had a First Sergeant, a fellow who actually worked over in the maintenance section with Colonel Simmons, but it didn't have an Adjutant. "No wonder," he muttered to himself, "the administrative work was dumped on the shoulders of the Operation Officer. That's not right and I have to fix it," he decided as he washed the soap from his face.

After a quick breakfast at the little snack bar in the Base Operations building down on the flight line, Tom headed for his office. Ned Collins greeted him with some good news. "Tom. I just got a call from the medics. Lieutenant Klein is being released from the hospital back to duty. He's still a way off from being cleared back to flying, but he's coming back to the squadron fit for general duty."

"Great news. I'll bet the guys will be glad to see him and know that he's on the mend. And since he's not available for crew duty, I know just what he can do around here. Let's assign him to squadron adjutant duties. Not only will that keep him here with his friends, but it will enable him take much of the administrative work off your shoulders. You can then concentrate on running daily operations and training."

"You know why we don't an adjutant now, don't you, sir?

"No. I never gave it much thought, but I'd be curious to hear why."

"Well, Colonel Bradley never put in for a replacement when Captain Allison, our former adjutant, got out of the service. He wanted to keep Smith so busy he'd not interfere with operations matters. Bradley was more of an Ops officer than a CO."

"That explains a few things. But, there's a good reason why squadrons have adjutants and we need one. When Klein comes in, send him to see me. Even if it's just for six or eight months before he goes back on flying status, he can be a big help by running the admin section. And it's just possible that the 288th will be out of business before he gets back on status anyway." After Tom took care of some paperwork and meetings with some of the men, he decided to go over to the simulator building to chat with Sergeant Gray. He found Gray just getting out of the 'box' in the main bay.

"Good morning, sir, and congratulations on your new job. You know, I had an inkling that somehow you'd wind up as CO around here, even if you are wearing the wrong kind of wings. Welcome back."

"What's new? Are the crews flying the #3 sorties in the box yet?"

"Oh yes. I'd guess at least a third of them have flown that profile, already. And it sure is big help having those extra TDY operators to help carry the load. We're still running 18-hour days here. But I guess you won't be able to take a turn now. Right, sir?"

"No, Sarge. I've got my hands full already. It is encouraging to learn that more crews are taking an interest in the simulator though."

"Major, er ah, Colonel Collins was big influence on that score. By making his flight come over here and setting a good example, the others gradually got the message. I understand that C-Flight is walking away with the scores."

"It sure helped. Major Kovacs is leader of C-Flight now. I suspect he'll not have any trouble getting the crews to keep it up. But I'm here for another purpose. I have a minor request to make."

"Oh. What can I do for you, sir?"

"I was wondering if I could convince you to wear your Marine Corps pilot wings on your uniform. That way the troops would quickly recognize your expertise and make it easier for them to take your suggestions and advice. I know it really shouldn't make any difference, but it does. Some of the younger pilots don't appreciate that you could fly circles around them. They don't know your background and hence don't realize that you really know what you're talking about. But, if they saw you wearing your wings, that would register more with them than your stripes. They'd be a whole lot more inclined to listen to your comments, suggestions and even criticisms when they see that you're a fellow pilot. What do you say?"

"Sure. I'll do that, if you want me to, sir. I didn't know that I could wear my Marine Corps wings on an Air Force uniform. The subject never came up. Yes, sir. I'd be proud to wear 'em again. 'Semper Fi', and all that."

"Thanks, Sarge. I think it will help."

"Oh, sir? I wanted to ask you if you heard anything about what's going to happen with the simulator when the reserves take over the base. Have you heard anything on that score?"

"No. Nothing definitive. General Harrison mentioned something about shipping it to Idaho, but I don't think that's going to happen. If I were a betting man, I'd bet that it stays right here to support the reserve outfit. They'll be getting the aircraft, so it makes sense to keep the simulator here to support them. But the answer really is I don't know."

"I hope it stays here, 'cause my wife and I want to remain in the area. We've got a nice place on the edge of town and aren't anxious to move. I'll have my 20 years in this Fall."

"Well, I'll let you know what I find out. Maybe you could stay on and work with the reserves. They're gonna need an expert like you."

Back in the squadron area, Collins asked Tom if he wanted to sit in on the afternoon briefing for the last of the #3 sortie flights. Four more would be taking off at 1400 hours.

"Sure. But you run the briefing. I'll just sit in."

One crew from each of the flights prepared to take off. This #3 mission included a short road strip photo run in the hills of western North Carolina, followed by three pinpoint low level targets over military installations near the coast. Each crew would need a 4000-pound off-load from an aerial tanker, the rendezvous and hookup being scored too. Mission duration was just over two hours.

As the briefing ended Tom noticed that two lieutenant colonels had slipped into the rear of the room. He didn't know who they were, so stepped over to inquire. One of them asked, "Colonel Anderson? We're looking for the commander of the 288th. Is that you?"

"You found him. What can I do for you."

"I'm Ken Gregory and this is Bart Mason. We're from the Air Reserve office in the Pentagon. Here's a copy of our orders."

"I heard from the base commander that there was a reserves survey team on the base. Is that you?"

"Yes. We're from the flight operation section. The others are looking over the facilities, equipment and housing areas. We're here to get information necessary to support conversion of the 288th to become the 1201st, still as an RF-4 outfit."

"Come on down to my office, gentlemen. I'll ask Colonel Collins, my Ops officer, to join us, just as soon as he's through with the briefing. Follow me."

Tom wasn't wearing his uniform jacket, so they didn't realize that he was a navigator. Soon, they were joined by Ned Collins, who was wearing his.

"Ned, come on in. These gentlemen are from Air Reserve headquarters and want to talk about the transition process." After the round of handshakes was over, Mason gave Tom a copy of a preliminary plan for the training of reservists to become qualified in the RF-4.

"We've tried to incorporate the latest directives from ACC and guidelines we got from the RF-4 outfit in Idaho."

Collins asked, "How soon are you planning on bringing the first flight crews here? Will they be placed on extended active duty for the duration of training, or what?"

"No," Gregory responded. "These people will be here for initial training as a part of their regular 30-day summer training session. We hope to get them qualified in that time. Then they will keep current in once-a-month weekend duty, the way other reservists do."

"You mean you expect to get these guys through the whole transition process in 30 days? All of 'em?" Tom asked.

"Yes, sir that's the plan."

"No way. It can't be done, unless they are already F-4 qualified. What are they flying now?" Tom continued.

"They've been flying C-97's, KC-'s, actually," Gregory explained.

Ned looked at Tom and smiled. Then he told their guests, "You gotta be kidding. It takes six months to transition our own crews and get them combat ready. And most of our pilots came right out of T-38's. Have your guys flown fighters at all?"

"Not since initial pilot training. Most of our pilots have been in KC's for five years now. And our navigators, for the most part, have never flow in fighters."

"Well, gentlemen," Tom responded. "There's no way in hell that we can transition them into the RF-4 and get them combat ready in less than six months. Perhaps, if they'd been F-4 qualified already we could have done it in 30 days, but otherwise it's a long process. You'd better adjust your plans. There's no way I can turn out qualified RF-4 crews in less than six months. And besides, I was told by my headquarters that you had nine months to complete the transition." Tom stood up, reached for his jacket and put it on.

The two visitors took immediate notice of Tom's wings. Mason and Gregory looked at each other, a surprised expression on their faces. Mason thanked Tom for his time and the two turned to leave. Collins escorted them to the outer office. As they started for the door, Ned overheard one say to the other, "What in the hell is the regular Air Force coming to? A navigator as CO of a fighter outfit? Dumbest thing I ever saw."

"Hold it, you two," barked Collins. "I heard that. Now get your asses in here and sit down," he said, pointing to his own office next door. Ned was angry. He told them to sit down and then he shut the office door, forcefully. He turned to them sitting there with startled expressions on their faces.

"So what if our commanding officer is wearing navigator wings? He's the best damn CO this outfit has had in the four years I've been here, and the last three were pilots. Maybe it's time that you accepted the fact that CO's are chosen for who they are, their leadership capabilities and their brains. It's not because they wear one kind of wings or another. You got that?"

Mason and Gregory were really taken aback. Here was a fellow pilot, the Ops officer chewing them out over a remark about navigators. They couldn't understand it.

"And," Ned Continued, Colonel Anderson was chosen not only by General Harrison, but also by the ACC commander. So I don't want to hear any more snide remarks about his being a navigator and not a pilot. Furthermore, I don't see any ribbons on your jackets that indicate that either of you ever flew in Viet Nam. Well, my CO has 175 combat missions under his belt and earned a DFC to boot. He knows more about RF-4 operations than you two do together."

"I'm sorry, Colonel Collins. It's just that we were shocked to see that he wasn't a pilot. We assumed .."

"Yeah, well, don't assume any more. And remember this. Colonel Anderson will be the one to certify, or not, when your reserve crews, pilots and navigators, are combat ready. So get used to it. Now get out of here and re-think your whole damn transition program. If Colonel Anderson says it'll take six months, believe it."

The two got up and quietly left. If they'd had tails, they would have been between their legs. After they'd gone, Tom came out of his office, nearly doubled over with laughter. In a few seconds, after he composed himself, Tom said, "You know those walls are paper thin. I heard every word. Boy, you're tough when you get riled." The two men had a good long laugh together and then Tom asked about what needed to be done to comply with ACC directives for upgrading RF-4 crews. Ned said he'd get right one it and show Tom a comprehensive package by the end of the week.

Both knew that Bradley never did put together such a detailed program, and neither had Smith. "It's a good thing that those two didn't ask to see a copy of our transition and upgrade procedures for flight crews," Tom added, still laughing.

"Yes sir. I don't know how I could have handled that, especially after blowing up at them. Guess I'd better get on it and get my flight leaders in on it too."

"Guess you better, and let's include a couple of the senior navigators in the planning process. And that reminds me, we, or rather you, have to designate a squadron navigator. We don't have one now. See how much fun you're going to have as Ops Officer?"

Two weeks later, and after the crews were well into Mission #5 of the competitive exercise, C-Flight, now led by Major Kovacks, was still in the lead by a wide margin. But Tom was gratified to learn that all Flights were now over 70% on average. And Both C and D flights were over 80%, C still above 90. That was a big and most welcome improvement. He thought that they just might pass a re-inspection from headquarters. He knew that they wouldn't wait very long before descending once again on the 288th.

Tom's phone rang one afternoon. It was Colonel Kelly calling. "So, my friend. How's it going down there?"

"So far so good, sir. Crew are half way through the competition exercise and doing better than expected." Tom explained the details of scores and improved performance see so far. He was quick to give Collins and the flight leaders credit for the way things were going.

"Good, Tom. That's good. But the real reason I called was to ask you if you're ready to start training some of the reserve boys."

"That depends, Colonel, on what they consider adequate training. I had some reserve headquarters types in her a while ago who though we could transition them, all of them, in 30 days. Ned and I told 'em no way, especially because they weren't already F-4 qualified."

"Yeah. I heard about that and the ass chewing Collins gave 'em. Wish I could have been there to see that. Anyhow, I think you can expect another visit from them. They'll want to see your standard upgrade program so they can judge how to adapt it to a transition one. Can you help them?"

"Sure, but there's no way things can be done in 30 days, no way at all. Their guys are KC-97 aircrews. I still say six months is required to get them combat ready, and that for each crew. If they expect us to transition all 32 crews in six months, that ain't going to happen. I don't have the simulators to do that job, nor enough IP's and IN's. And what happened to the nine-month schedule?"

"I think what we've run into here is that the reserves don't have the money in their budget to spend nine months in a full transition program. I'm sure they'll have to scale their plans back quite a bit. I'd guess that at the end of nine months they'll be lucky to have a dozen crews fully checked out."

"Are you still planning on replacing my crews on a one-for-one basis as the reserve guys complete the program?"

"Yup. That's still the plan."

"We'll do the best we can, sir. But they've got to face reality. Even our regular troops got six months for transition into the bird, and that was during the push to get guys over to Viet Nam."

"You're probably right, Tom. Don't let them try to snow ball you. I can come down any time you want some back up. And, oh yes. If you need some more IP's, I can send a few down to help from Idaho. Let me know how it goes. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. Will do. And one other thing, I thought you'd like to know that Lieutenant Klein is now the adjutant for the 288th, at least until he gets back on flying status. The guys were really glad to see him come back to work. He's doing fine."

"Good, Tom. That's good news. Keep in touch. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. Will do. Say 'Hi' to Sue for me. Bye."

Tom saw Ned walk by his opened office door and called out, "Hey, Ned. Can you come here a minute?"

"Sure, boss. What do you need?"

"I just got off the phone with Colonel Kelly. He said that he could send us some IP's down from Idaho, if we need more help checking out those reservists."

"We could use 'em, I suppose."

"Yeah, we could, but what I think would be better is if we can produce our own. For a couple of reasons, it would be better."

"How?"

"Well, firstly, when our guys get sent to other bases after the transition is completed, they would be in better shape, career-wise, if they came as experienced IP's, and IN's too, of course. Secondly, we know our own guys and we don't know squat about who'll get sent down here. And, thirdly, I suppose, is cost savings. Not having to pay the TDY of outside IP's saves money."

"We could probably come up with four or five of our best pilots, and perhaps as many navigators, to be upgraded to instructor status. You got any particular folks in mind?"

"No, but I think you and your flight leaders could identify a few candidates. But, I want guys who are also believers in the simulator and willing to use it to the maximum. We may even have to schedule the box 24 hours to keep up with the workload, for reservists in transition and our own guys for annual checks and proficiency training. And that makes me think that we'll need to either keep the TDY simulator operators, or get some replacements into the pipeline."

"I'll get with my guys and have a list of candidates for you by the end of the week. Anything else?"

"Yes, Ned. What ever happened to the mobile control tower we used to have?"

"It's parked out behind the maintenance shops. Colonel Bradley didn't like it, so it got moved away. Why?"

"Well, I think we're going to need it again when we start training those new guys. It improves flight safety and supervision by instructor pilots of their students. They can be right on the spot to offer help and suggestions to pilots taking off and landing. See what it would take to get that unit back to

work. Will you, please?"

"Yes, sir. I'll have Novack check into it this afternoon. And speaking of the maintenance folks, they've got an airplane ready for a test hop this afternoon. You want to go flying with me? It'll be just a 30 minute test hop."

"I'd sure like to, but I'm not sure it's a good idea for both of us to be in the same airplane. If anything happened, who'd run this railroad. No, we'd better not fly together. Too much depends on one of us being around. But, thanks anyway."

"Okay, then. Just let mw know when you want to fly with any of the troops and I'll put you on the schedule. You don't want to go non-current again, I'm sure."

"No, I don't. You can use me as a replacement navigator if you need one, perhaps next week, if you need anybody."

"Okay, boss. I'll keep you in mind." By the time that Memorial Day approached, the crews were completing the eighth of ten competition flights. C-Flight held onto its lead, but the scoring margins were narrowing. All flights were averaging over 75% now and there was no doubt that things were running better. But a new set of problems soon appeared.

Chapter 14

A knock on the door frame to Tom's office prompted him to look up from the papers he was reading. "Sir? You got a minute?" "Yeah, sure. What is it Lieutenant Klein?"

"It's these, sir. I've got a stack of letters for you which were forwarded from the base commander's office. I know you told me to handle the routine correspondence, but these aren't." "Well, what are they?"

"They're letters from local merchants and businesses demanding that Airmen Williamson and Abernathy pay off their debts. And there's a note here, from Colonel Evans, saying 'Take care of this!"

"Let me see those. And have a seat, will you. You make me nervous." Tom scanned the half dozen letters and the notes attached with yellow 'post-its' from Colonel Evans. Then he sat back, leaning against the chair, and smiled. "You know, Klein, this is the kind of stuff that commanders get all the time. Merchants extend credit to our GI's, well beyond their ability to pay, and then expect commanders to act and collection agents. When the GI's can't make the payments, merchants go crying to commanders even before they try to work out payment arrangements with the fellows who are in financial trouble."

"But, why don't they simply write to the people who own the money?"

"Because those sleaze bags know that the military system is harder on the men than civil courts would be, especially small claims courts."

"So, what are we going to do?"

"We, Lieutenant, as in you, here, are going to investigate the validity and basis of these claims and take appropriate action. The definition of what is appropriate will come from the Staff Judge Advocate' office, our base legal beagles. You've got to do your research, review your data with them and take the actions they deem necessary and appropriate."

"But, sir. I've never done anything like this."

"We all start somewhere, Klein. I've been down this road myself, in years past. It's all part of your education as an officer. I know they didn't teach you this in ROTC, but now you're in the 'graduate school of hard knocks'. You'll figure it out. And, oh yes, I suggest you have a chat with the First Sergeant about this."

"Okay, sir. I'll give it a try." Klein turned and left the office, clearly not satisfied with his CO's instructions. He'd hoped for specific, step-by-step guidance and he didn't get it. Tom knew that, and knew as well that Klein's education in matters of this sort required hands on involvement, not merely following someone else's instructions.

Tom chuckled to himself about Klein's dilemma. Collins stuck his head in the door and was surprised to see Tom's demeanor. "You find something funny in those aircraft write-up sheets, Tom?"

"No, Ned. I just had a session with Lieutenant Klein that brought back memories of my own days as a young company grader. Klein's got to resolve some problems between merchants and some of our GI's. It goes with the territory of being a young adjutant. Did you want something?"

"Kovack is out here and wants to tell you about the mobile control towers. You got a minute?" "Sure. Send him in."

"Colonel, sir. I checked into the status of that old mobile control tower unit, as Colonel Collins requested."

"Yes. What did you find out?"

"Well, sir. It's pretty much in tact, except somebody removed the air conditioner unit and both radios. The trailer is okay. There's no broken glass, and it could be put back into service as soon as we replace the missing equipment. It could use a coat of paint too."

"Okay. Let's make this a project for your whole flight. Get your guys together with the folks in the radio shop and see what they can come up with. And ask Colonel Simmons if he has any idea what happened to the air conditioner. Tell him we need that trailer back along side the runway in two weeks. When we start training those reservists, it'll be essential"

"Yes, sir. We'll get right on it."

"Anything else, Ned?"

"One more thing, Tom. Here's a list of pilots the flight leaders recommend as instructors. And I've got Major Greene, our new squadron navigator, doing the same for a list of IN's."

"Have your senior IP's put together a written plan for upgrading the new instructors. I'd like to get those fellows ready before our reserve pilots get here. Do the same for the IN's too, will you?"

"Already started, sir. I'll have a plan on your desk by Monday. Oops. Make that Wednesday with the holiday and all." "Fine. That'll be fine. Thanks."

Lieutenant Klein poked his head in the doorway to say, "Telephone for you, Colonel. It's your wife on line four."

Tom nodded and reached for his phone. Pushing button four, he began, "Hi, Hon. Got your ticket?"

"Yes, I do, sweetheart. I'll be at the Charleston airport tomorrow evening at seven. Meet me?"

"You bet. And I'm going to call now to confirm the guest house reservation. We can grab supper in Charleston before driving over to the base. How's that?"

"Wonderful. I can't wait to see you. Tomorrow at seven. Bye." In a couple of minutes Tom got the word that the guest house was indeed booked in his name through Monday night. That would work out fine, for he could take Jenny to the airport for an early flight from there."

Donning his jacket and cap, Tom told Ned that he was headed over to the simulator to talk with Sergeant Gray. "I'll probably be over there until quitting time."

"Right, sir. See you tomorrow then. Goodnight."

Gray was in his office, struggling with the schedule for next week. With Monday being a holiday and all, it'll be tough to get the crews wanting to practice before the number seven sorties were due to start, he muttered to himself.

"Oh, hi there, Colonel. Come in, please. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I see that you're working on the schedule. That's what I wanted to talk about. And also I wanted to see about getting you some help."

"This weekend break is going to make it rough getting our crews through practices sessions before they fly, that is if the flight schedule is set in concrete."

"No. It isn't. Since the Number seven sorties don't depend on refueling, we can make adjustments. Would a one day slip help?"

"Sure would, sir. And so would two more simulator operators."

"Well, that's one of the things I wanted to ask you about. We are going to be upgrading several new IP's and IN's. It occurred to me that those guys could also double as simulator console operators, for their students in the box. What do you think?"

"Sure. There's no reason why they couldn't. It's really just a matter of following a system setup procedure, flipping on some switches and monitoring the profiles while the crews do their thing. Yes, sure. It makes sense to use them as console operators too. So why didn't I think of that?"

"I know why. It's because until recently it couldn't be done, what with Bradley and Smith averse to the simulator. How long do you think it would take for your guys to check out a couple IP's and IN's?"

"Just four hours, sir. Especially since we've got everything down to checklist format. A couple hours of orientation on how the system works, data flows and some limitations they need to know, and then maybe an hour or so running through setup and shutdown procedures is all they need."

"Okay. Let's do it. That should give your guys some help, and then we'll be ready when your TDY operators have to leave. If it works out with the first few IP's and IN's, I'd like to make it standard procedure for our instructors."

"It's worth a try, sir. And, by the way, this weekend will be the first time off my guys have had in weeks. I hope you're not going to make 'em work over the weekend."

"No. Sarge. We're all taking a break. I'm even having my wife come down to spend the time with me."

One of Gray's assistants called out, "Hey Sarge. Is the colonel still here? He's got a call on line one." Gray picked up the phone and handed it to Tom.

"Colonel Anderson, speaking."

"Tom? It's Nate. How about meeting me at the Club for a beer at 5:30? I need to talk with you, informally. Okay?"

"Sure, Nate. See you then." Tom handed the receiver back to Gray and muttered out loud. "Hmmm. Wonder what Simmons wants?" And then, realizing that he was taking out loud, he concluded, "Oh. Thanks. That was Colonel Simmons. He wants to chat. Well, you fellows enjoy your long weekend. And I'll discuss the simulator orientations for the instructors with Colonel Collins. Sounds like a plan."

"Yes, sir. And you have a good weekend with the missus." Before leaving the squadron area, Tom drove around behind the maintenance shops to see about that mobile control tower. It sat on a flat-bed trailer, out back of a hangar. He got out of his car and walked around the thing. It sure did need a coat of paint. It's red and white checkerboard pattern of squares, intended to give it high visibility, were faded and sun-bleached. He opened the door and walked inside. A gaping hole on the opposite wall revealed where the slide-in air conditioner had been. There was dirt and dust all over the radio and light console and work bench. Three telephones, also covered with dust, were mounted on the lower cabinet walls. And a single typist chair, mounted on casters, lay on its side in the corner. The whole unit was barely ten feet square. Yet, Tom decided that it was probably still usable and could be returned to service, after a serious cleaning and some repairs.

As Tom returned to his car and started to head toward the gate, Nate came by in his pickup. He stopped, parked in the driveway, driver's door to driver's door. They chatted briefly, before agreeing to meet over at the Club. Nate mentioned that some of the pilots had come by to see about getting the mobile unit back in commission. He'd told them that the air conditioner was now in use at the camera shop, but he'd find them a replacement.

The bar at the Club was busy that evening. Tom and Nate were lucky to find a small table far enough from the juke box to allow them to enjoy their beers and be able to hear each other over the din. Nate bought the first round, offering a toast to his new squadron commander, saying, "Looks like you're off to a good start, Tom. I wish you continued success."

"Thanks, Nate. I've had good cooperation from all the guys and support from headquarters. That helps. So? What was it you wanted to talk about?"

"Well, Tom, as I understand it, this base and the 288^th will all be converted to the Air Reserves by the end of the year. Right?"

"Yup. That's the plan, though I wouldn't bet the farm on that schedule."

"I thought you should be the first to know, my friend, that by the end of the year I'll be hanging it up. I'm putting in my retirement papers to be effective on New Years day. That'll by the 28^th anniversary of the day I joined up, back in Korean era."

"What prompted this? You could still hang in there for two more and get full retirement?"

"Yeah. I know. But I don't want to be transferred again. That's a high likelihood, what with the transition and all. My wife and I like it here and this will be our permanent home."

"Sure. I can understand that. I hate to lose you though. We all count on you, perhaps more than you realize."

"I know. But it's time. And besides, I want to start a second career while I'm still young enough. I've been looking into teaching. My academic credentials are still valid, though I might need a few courses to get my state teaching certificate."

"Oh? You planning on teaching in high school?"

"That's one option, though I have talked to the folks over at the junior college in town too. It might be fun to teach math or engineering preparatory courses. I haven't decided, and for that matter nobody's made me any offers yet."

"Well, I am truly surprised. Somehow, I kinda figured that you would be here long after I've gone. But then, that might not have been realistic, because the Reserves will have their own chief of maintenance, I suppose. Wow. This a surprise."

"Yes, Tom. They probably will have full-time maintenance guys. Some could even be civil servants. It's takes full timers to keep the fleet operational and ready to support those weekend pilots. I'd expect that they might have three dozen folks to keep the store open. And probably there will be a dozen or more full-timers in Ops too."

"I haven't had any experience with Reserve outfits before, Nate. I haven't a clue how they'll be structured, full timers versus weekend warriors. But, I guess they'll have to have some instructors and flight examiners, both pilots and navs. I just don't know."

"And what does it look like for you, after the 288^th folds up its tent and the Reserves take over?"

"I haven't a clue. I would like to get into Systems Command, maybe at Wright Field or even down at Eglin. My wife probably wouldn't go for being way out in the desert at Edwards, though it would be perfect for me."

"Haven't General Harrison or Colonel Kelly given you any suggestions, or made any offers?"

"No. Not really, but then they know I've got my hands full for right now and shouldn't be distracted."

"Yeah. You're probably right. Ready for another?"

"No. Thanks, Tom. One's enough for me. I think I'll grab some supper and maybe head back to the VOQ. Might even call the wife, just to see how she's doing and check to see if she's packed for this weekend yet."

"Yes, I did hear by the grapevine that she was going to spend the Memorial Day weekend with you. That's great. Say. I have a suggestion. Why don't you two join us for Sunday dinner at our place? That is, unless you two have a preference for being alone."

"What did you have in mind? I certainly could ask her what she wants."

"Well, I haven't checked with headquarters yet, but I was going to offer some steaks on the barbecue, and my wife makes a strawberry shortcake to die for. Tempt her with that."

"Sounds good to me. I'll let you know tomorrow. She doesn't get into Charleston until 7:30 or so. I'll ask her tonight."

"Well, we don't want to cramp your style as lovebirds, but Meg and I would be delighted to have you come, and to meet Jenny. Just let me know."

"Will do, and thanks. Oh, and thanks for the beer too."

Nate got up and headed for the men's room on his way out. Tom went into the dining room and picked up a menu, browsing to see what the Thursday night special might be. Then he headed for his quarters.

From his VOQ room, Tom dialed his home number in Virginia. After just two rings, Jenny answered.

"Hi, Hon. It's me. Are you all packed?"

"No. But I'm glad you called, because I don't know how warm it is down there and what to bring."

"Oh. Well, today we hit the upper 70's. It's muggy and mornings tend to be in the upper 50's. Rain is possible, they say."

"Do you think I'll need my raincoat, or just a folding umbrella?"

"Why don't you bring both, then you'll have something to put on if it cools off, especially down on the water? Say, my love. We have an invitation for a barbecue cookout this Sunday afternoon. Are you interested?"

"Sure. Is it with Jeff and Carolyn?"

"No. It's with Colonel and Mrs. Simmons. He's the chief of maintenance, a really nice guy. I know you'll like him. He asked my tonight and I said I'd check with you. It's not a command performance or anything like that. If you'd rather do something else, it's no big deal."

"Sure. I'd like to go. But do you think we could see Jeff and Carolyn too, sometime over the weekend?"

"Don't know why not. I'll give 'em a call. How about Saturday, afternoon or evening?"

"Anytime is fine with me. It'll be so good to see them again."

"Will do. And I am really looking forward to seeing you, sweetheart. How about having supper in Charleston tomorrow night? I know a nice waterfront restaurant with great food and atmosphere. It's called the Captain Hook."

"You pick. I'll go wherever you like."

"Okay. See you at the airport. Have a nice flight. See you then."

Friday morning Tom called Nate to tell him that Jenny would be delighted to visit on Sunday. He suggested they come by at 5:30 in the afternoon. Then Tom called Jeff and Carolyn. Carolyn answered and shrieked with delight to hear that Jenny was coming down. Saturday was set as the meeting time, Tom said he'd bring some wine, to go with the lasagna that Carolyn said she'd be making for supper.

Tom sat back, at his desk during one of the few quiet moments of the morning, contemplating the weekend ahead. It was filled already, with Monday being the only time with nothing planned. He decided to leave it that way. His thoughts were interrupted by Ned Collins' tapping on the frame of the opened office door.

"You got a minute, sir?"

"Yes, sure. What's on your mind?"

"I hear you're planning on checking IP's out to run the flight simulator. Is that right?"

"Yes. I think it's about the only way we'll be able to meet the demanding schedule of checking out those reserve crews. Does that create any problems for you?"

"No. I think it makes sense. I was just wondering if you wanted any kind of certification or notation on the IP's paperwork. And how about the IN's? Are they going to get checked out at the console too?"

"I don't think it's really necessary to do more than make a notation on their training records. A certificate isn't really needed. And the IN's don't have to be checked out, though I don't object if some want to."

Things continued to go pretty well. Instructor pilots were showing surprising new interest in the simulator, their checkouts were thorough and by the book. Student pilots began coming through and a transition program soon took shape. It began to look as if they could establish a crew a week through the new system. That was better than expected, but still too slow for the people at Reserve headquarters.

Tom's weekend with Jenny was now a memory. It flew by far too quickly. They had a great time together and with friends old and new, but before Tom knew it he put her back on an airplane for Virginia. Where does the time go, he wondered?

Chapter 15

Crews of the 288^th neared completion of their competition sorties. With just one day of flying left before they were done with the 320 flights, Collins' former flight was still in the lead, by a comfortable margin. They had a cumulative score of 92%, with the closest rival just under 90%. Yet no flight was below 75% and Tom felt happy with the overall improvement.

It was late summer before the final scores were announced and the crews in Collins' flight relished their accomplishment. General Harrison too was pleased, sending his congratulations by wire, which Tom read to the crews at a Commander's Call session.

"So, Colonel? When do we get that Las Vegas trip," asked one of the navigators in Collins' flight. "I can't wait to get to the tables, sir."

"It'll be soon. I have to check with the folks in headquarters to confirm that all the preparations have been completed. Nellis doesn't get a bunch like you guys descending on them every day, you know. I'll let you know just as soon as the folks at Langley tell me. But, I gotta tell you fellows, all of you, that you did a great job. I'm proud of you and confident that you can pass the next operational readiness inspection with flying colors."

The next day, Tom got a teletype message from headquarters. It wasn't the expected confirmation of the Nellis trip. Rather, it was notification that the tropical storm in the Caribbean was now classified as a full-blow hurricane. Simpson air base was advised to prepare for evacuation of all flyable aircraft and to batten down in anticipation of a severe storm.

Tom called Nate Simmons to advise him of the approaching storm and to initiate the procedures required to secure the flight line. "I expect to get word to evacuate the airplanes soon, Nate. I'll keep you posted."

"Ned," Tom called out through his open office door, "We got a problem. Can you come in here, please."

"Yes, boss. What's up?"

Tom explained about the approaching storm, passing the teletype message to his Operations Officer.

"Boy. That is a problem. Any idea where they will want us to send the aircraft?"

"Not a clue. Depends on where the storm track is."

"Still no word about the Vegas trip either, I suppose?"

"Nope. But that's probably pretty far down the priority list at headquarters, what with concern over the hurricane and all. I guess it would be a good idea to alert the crews about a possible deployment. Have 'em pack some bags and be ready to go on short notice. My guess is that we'll be sending 'em north or west someplace that can support F-4's within a 1000-mile radius."

"Yes, sir. I'll get the word out. You think they'll evacuate the dependents too?"

"Who knows? I'll call the base commander to see if he's been alerted to do anything."

Tom dialed the phone and soon the base commander's secretary answered. "Hello Maggie, It's Colonel Anderson in the 288^th. Is he in?"

Soon Colonel Evans came on the line, saying "Hello, Tom. I'll bet you're calling about this hurricane warning. Am I right?"

"Yes, sir. I got a wire from headquarters a little while ago. I'm planning to be ready to deploy our airplanes and crews, but I wondered if you had any idea of what, if anything, they are going to do for the dependents and support personnel. Any evacuations likely?"

"Sorry, Tom. No word here yet, but if evacuations become necessary I'll get the word down as soon as possible. If it comes to that, we'll probably send folks inland about 100 miles to higher ground. The contingency plan includes use of motor pool assets and personal vehicles. Car pooling will be emphasized, of course, because the locals will be headed inland too and we don't want to add to the traffic."

"Sure. I understand. Have the civilian authorities made any moves toward such an evacuation?"

"Not that I know of, Tom. The mayor's office will call me when they make their decisions, and the highway patrol is tasked to alert me if they set up dedicated evacuation corridors. I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks, Colonel. You can reach me here or my Operations Officer. We'll be making preparations, just in case. Thank you, sir."

An evacuation order was not long in coming. Tom got both a wire message and a phone call. General Harrison's deputy, Colonel Briggs, called to instruct Tom to start moving airplanes out ASAP. Little Rock AFB in Arkansas was tasked to support and accommodate the 288^th. Tom was advised that with the area-wide deployments going on, no aerial tanker support would be provided for 288^th airplanes. If they couldn't make it to Little Rock, they were told to land at Scott AFB in Illinois. Then Briggs made an unusual statement for a headquarters type, by adding, "Use your own best judgement, Colonel." That was a degree of latitude he never expected to hear from headquarters.

Tom passed the word along to Collins. They got into a discussion about how many crews they could launch in the next eight hours. Then Collins made a comment that intrigued Tom.

"Say, boss. Wouldn't this be a good time to send my flight farther on west, to Nellis? We could kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. The evacuation and the reward trip could serve both. What do you think? The guys have to get outa here, one way or another."

"Ned," Tom began, while thinking about the idea, "it's something that headquarters probably hasn't got time to decide. They are pretty busy now. We aren't the only ACC unit they've got on their minds. Let me think on it a bit."

Tom dialed Nate Simmons to give maintenance the word. Nate advised that all but two airplanes were flyable and all could be ready to go within the next 12 hours. "Half of 'em are ready now, sir," Nate added.

"I'm going over to the weather section, Ned," Tom declared. "You want to come over with me to get the latest forecasts?" Ned agreed and the two headed out the door, Tom telling his clerk that he'd be at Base Weather if Colonel Evans called.

"Wonder where they'll be sending those transports?" Ned asked, as they two approached the Base Operations building, noting that there were a dozen birds of mixed types parked on the flight line.

The two entered Base Operations to find a flurry of activity going on telephones were ringing off the hooks, some unanswered while dispatchers and clerks attempted to cope with the deluge of callers and people at the counter. There was a standing-room only crowd at the weatherman's counter too.

Tom moved off to the side, not bothering those busy with answering a myriad of questions from pilots filing flight plans, from civil defense people and others anxious about the hurricane's approach. Soon he spied the large forecast chart on the wall and pointed it out to Ned.

"There's the storm, Ned. Looks like it's still 100 miles off Key West.

Someone has drawn a red line to indicate its probable path up the east coast of Florida. I'd judge that we have at most 12 to 16 hours before it starts to batter this region." Then Tom wormed his way toward the counter and looked for the forecast charts covering Little Rock, Scott and even Las Vegas. He was relieved to see that they were all in the clear and expected to be so for the next 72 hours.

On the way out of the building, Tom managed to get the attention of the senior dispatcher at operations. Lieutenant Colonel Browning recognized Tom and commented, "It's a zoo around here, Tom. What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, sure is. I just wanted to alert you to the fact that my crews will be filing flight plans soon for evacuation to Little Rock, Scott and maybe other bases soon. We'll start launching birds within the next eight hours."

"It'd help us, Tom, if you'd have your Operations Officer file the flight plans with us in bunches, rather than separately. How many do you expect will be in each flight?"

"They will be going out eight at a time. Ned Simmons here, my Ops Officer, will work with you as we start to evacuate. Say, any idea where those transports are going?"

"They are leaving before sunrise for all kinds of places. That C-141 is headed for Nellis and it's going empty."

Tom thought to himself that the C-141 might be useful and asked, "Where's the 141 pilot? Do you know?"

"Yeah … he standing right over there by the fire extinguisher. He's waiting to see if he's supposed to carry any people or equipment outa here when he leaves."

Tom waved a goodbye and thank you to Browning. He grabbed Ned sleeve and dragging him in the 141 pilot's direction. Ned followed but was unsure what Tom had in mind.

"You the pilot of that 141 out there?" Tom asked the major standing in his flight suit.

"Yes, Colonel. I am. You need something?"

"As a matter of fact I do. I'm the C.O. of the RF-4 squadron here, the 288^th. This is Ned Simmons, my Operations Officer. The dispatcher tells me that you're headed for Nellis. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir, as soon as I get instructions from my headquarters at Scott Field. You need a lift?"

"As a matter of fact, Major. I do. I have some maintenance troops and several pieces of ground support equipment that I need to get out of here, and Nellis is a good destination for some of my birds. Can you help?"

Ned smiled, now aware of what Tom was up to. He was going to send the winning crews and their maintenance support folks on a free ride to Nellis, all courtesy of the approaching hurricane.

"How about calling your headquarters and telling them that you've got your load and will be ready to leave at dawn? Can you do that?"

"Sure. I suppose so. Are you sure that you're the C.O. of this outfit. No disrespect, Colonel, but you are wearing navigator's wings …."

"Yes, Major. Colonel Anderson is indeed our C.O. and as his Ops Officer I can assure you he's in charge. So? How about it? Can you get a hold of your headquarters and tell 'em you're supporting our evacuation?"

The major headed for the dispatch counter and grabbed a telephone, practically out of the hands of a sergeant. The sergeant backed off and let him make his call. Tom and Ned waited off to the side.

"Pretty sneaky, sir," Ned commented. "And you're pretty fast on your feet too. I'm impressed, but what do you think ACC will say when they hear that you're sending some birds to Nellis instead of Little Rock?"

"All I can say is that General Harrison's deputy told me to use my own best judgement. So that's what I'm doing. But now I have to worry about Nate Simmons getting his troops and equipment ready to go by dawn. And how about your old flight? Will those guys be ready?"

"You betcha, sir. They'll be ready. But how are you gonna get them all the way to Nellis. We don't have any tanker support. They'll have to land for fuel along the way."

The C-141 pilot motioned for Tom to come over to where he was talking on the telephone. "Sir, my headquarters wants to know who authorized your deployment to Nellis. They have to cover their butts if they let me carry your troops and equipment."

"Tell 'em that General Harrison at ACC has authorized the Nellis trip. Harrison is the Director of Reconnaissance at ACC headquarters at Langley."

The major passed along the message and was soon given approval to help the 288^th deploy. "Approved, Colonel. My headquarters says we can fly your team out there, but they want me to be sure to get airborne before the storm hit Simpson."

"Great. Okay then. I'll get my maintenance chief to get ready for an 0600 departure. Can your loadmaster be available at 0400 hours to assist?"

"Yes, sir. I'll leave my airplane right where it is. Have you people and equipment positioned at the aft cargo door by 0400 and we'll get it loaded. I'll plan on gear up at 0600. See your guys then."

"Terrific, Major. I really appreciate your help. C'mon, Ned. We've got work to do." Then Tom turned to the major and asked, "Your guys got a place to stay tonight, Major?"

"No sweat, sir. My enlisted guys have rooms in the transient barracks and the flight deck crew has VOQ accommodations. What we could use is some wheels though. Your motor pool has put a hold on everything."

"Wheels you've got, Major. Come along with us and I'll get you wheels at my squadron." So the three men quickly left Base Operations and drove back to the 288^th. When they got to the building, Tom turned and said, "Here you go, Major. Here are the keys to my car, here. Help yourself. I'll have someone pick it up at the airplane in the morning."

"Wow. Thanks Colonel. I really appreciate this."

"It's my pleasure, Major. And we are the ones to thank you. Your 141 is the answer to our deployment problem. See you in the morning." And the major drove off in Tom's car.

Inside the office, Tom turned to Ned and said, "Get your old flight together and tell 'em they're to be airborne for Nellis at 0800 tomorrow. But be sure they get their rest tonight. I don't want anybody too fatigued to fly safely tomorrow. They can do their mission planning in the morning. And I want you to personally get 'em briefed before they head out."

"Yes, sir. Will do, but we still haven't answered the question of the mid-way refueling stop. Should they plan on Little Rock?"

"Yup … that's a good plan. Little Rock is already alerted to support the 288^th. That should be fine."

"So, Tom … what are you going to tell General Harrison, when he finds out that you used this hurricane to send my guys off to Nellis?"

"Well, Colonel Briggs did tell me to use my own judgement. That'll have to do, but I'll call Briggs and give him a heads up, in the morning after the crews are airborne. He can tell the general. But right now I need to give Simmons a hand. You've got the helm for now."

Tom walked over to the maintenance section. It was now 4:00 PM and a lot had to be done before 0400 tomorrow. He walked into the office and saw that Nate was on the phone. Nate saw Tom enter and motioned for him to come over to the desk.

"I've got some good news for you, Nate. You got a minute?"

Yes, sir. I'm holding on for my line chief to report on the status of two birds we home to have for you first thing in the morning. What's up?"

While Nate held onto the phone, listening with one ear, he listened with the other as Tom explained what he was doing, about the Little Rock deployment, and the Nellis one. All Nate did was keep nodding as Tom explain every detail. Then Tom concluded by asking, "So, Nate. Which of your guys are you sending to Nellis?"

"It'll have to be my night crew. They can sleep on the airplane, but right now we've got to generate airplanes for you to fly out of here ahead of the storm." Then Nate held up his hand to pause while listening to the phone at his other ear.

"Yeah. Right. Okay then, I can have 788 and 754 by midnight. Right? Good, and thanks Sergeant Goodwin. Good job."

Nate paused a minute to gather his thoughts, to make some notes on his notepad, and the he turned to Tom. "You know, Tom, your guys will need a tanker to make it all the way to Nellis. Otherwise they'll have to stop enroute for fuel."

"Yes. I was planning on having them stop at Little Rock for fuel. Headquarters tells me that all the KC-135's are tied up supporting other hurricane-related deployments."

"Well, Tom. I may have a rabbit in the hat for you. If I could get you a tanker that ACC doesn't know about, would you be interested?"

"You bet. But where in the hell are you going to find a spare and available tanker?"

The Nate explained to Tom that his former classmate in engineering school was now in charge of McDonnell-Douglas Aircraft Company's (MDAC) flight test program for the brand new, not yet operational KC-10 tanker. He explained that his old pal was now in St. Louis with two test birds. It just might be possible to get MDAC to support the 288^th in their hurricane deployment. MDAC doesn't need to know that it's a boon-doggle trip to Vegas. "You interested. If you are, I Ned to make a quick call. Hmmmm let's see, it's 3:00 PM in St. Louis. Yeah, Jack should be available now."

"Sure, "Tom enthusiastically responded. "Give your friend a call and see what we can work out. Terrific."

First, Nate met with some of his sergeants and a could branch chief officers. Then he and Tom went into Nate's office. Tom sat down opposite Nate while he place the call, listening in amazement as his friend worked wonders.

"Jack? Nate Simmons here. How the hell are you? And Mildred? Still as pretty as ever? Yeah. I always had a thing for her, but you beat me to her. Look, Jack. I need a favor." And then Nate explained to his friend what he needed. Tom nodded in agreement as Nate explained the need for tanker support. "Yes, eight RF-4's. Over St. Louis at 0800 local. Sure. They can be there. Yes. Yes. Okay, 324.5 megahertz refueling frequency. Angels 25. What was that heading from the STL VORTAC? Got it. Yes, 245 radial. How much will they need? Wait a second. I've got the C.O. here in my office. It's Colonel Anderson, Tom Anderson." And Nate handed the phone to Tom.

"Jack? Tom Anderson here. We really appreciate MDAC's help here. Yes. We're deploying some of our RF's to Nellis. The storm is due here early tomorrow morning. How much? Probably 6000 pounds maximum for each bird, a total of let's say 50,000 pounds. You can? Great. Yes. I'll give my Operations Officer the details so my crews can plan accordingly. You got a phone number we can call to confirm our morning departure?" And Tom wrote down some phone numbers, the pilot's name and even who to contact at St. Louis center to coordinate the rendezvous. 'Thanks, Jack. You guys are life savers. Here's Nate again." And Tom handed the phone back to Nate who continued with personal chit chat for a few more minutes.

Tom moved over top another phone behind Nate and called Ned to give him the good news. "I'll be back in the office within the hour. Can you give me a ride to the VOQ later? Thanks. See you later."

"I had a hunch that Jack would be eager to help. And it won't hurt MDAC to demonstrate that the KC-10 can respond to Air Force needs," Nate added. "And this won't cost ACC a dime either. MDAC will chalk it up to operational testing. Such a deal."

"You never cease to amaze me, my friend. This is terrific. I just told Ned Simmons the details, so he can get the crews ready for the rendezvous. Hmmmm. That means that they have to be outa here by 0700 central. That fits with an 0800 local takeoff. All the pieces are coming together. Thanks a million. You did it again." Nate smiled, enjoying the feeling of being able to help his young commander and the outfit.

Before Tom headed back for his office he made one more call, to find out if the Base Commander had any word yet about evacuating dependents and support personnel. He learned that no evacuation was contemplated, except for all flyable airplanes.

The latest estimate was for the brunt of the storm to hit Simpson at noon tomorrow with winds in excess of 60 miles per hour. Tom passed the word to Nate, who suggested that the simulator building just might be the sturdiest building for some folks to ride out the storm when it hit.

"You're right. And we could probably squeeze up to 100 folks in there, if necessary. I'd better call Sergeant Gray to alert him that his building may become a designated shelter.

I don't guess we're going to get much sleep around here tonight."

"I've got some cots here," said Nate, "if you want to grab some shut-eye during the night. I plan on spending the night here myself. I've already told my wife not to expect me until tomorrow. I just hope I can get there before it hits."

"Thanks, Nate. I've got a cot in my office too. Use your spare for some of your weary troops. Don't forget, 0400 at the C-141. They'll be expecting you."

Activity on the flightline was furtive all night long, as ground support people, pilots and others readied airplanes for an early morning evacuation. Nate Simmons had his people and equipment ready for loading aboard the C-141 by 4:00 AM, as requested. One captain, four sergeants and five GI's arrived with their personal luggage for the Las Vegas trip. Even though they'd been up all night, none seemed to mind those final preparations for the trip.

Tom and Ned got very little sleep either, as they seemed to be everywhere, overseeing the evacuation readiness of crews and planes. All but two crews were ready to go at 0600 hours and they were ones destined for Little Rock. The Las Vegas-bound crews were ready ahead of time. At the pre-mission briefing, Ned told them of the KC-10 they'd meet over St. Louis. He cautioned them to be cooperative and appreciative of MDAC's participation in the deployment. The pilots were curious and even excited about forming up with the huge new tanker. They would be the first operational outfit to try refueling behind that three-engine monster.

At the last minute only one crew failed to show for the early take-off. The navigator came down with the flu and could not fly, so Ned told the pilot to go alone and get the airplane to Little Rock. The pilot was briefed to tag along in loose formation with another crew, though arrangements had to be made for alignment of the inertial navigation gear. A maintenance man volunteered to go along and operate the equipment, but Tom had to turn him down because the fellow had not completed safety or altitude chamber training qualifying him to fly. Instead, the airman got things up and running and climbed down from the rear cockpit before the pilot closed the canopy for taxi-out.

Tom called the Command Post at Little Rock to advise them of the number of RF-4's enroute and their estimated arrival time. Then he made a call to ACC headquarters and General Harrison's office.

"Well, Tom? Has the storm hit you guys yet? And did you get those birds out of there?"

"Yes, General. Only two non-flyable airplanes are left here. Most are headed for Little Rock and the remaining eight will be at Nellis by 1530 hours, you time. The storm isn't due to hit here until after noon."

"Did you say Nellis?"

"Yes, General. This was the right opportunity to send them on their much-deserved Las Vegas trip. They'll meet their tanker over St. Louis at 0900 hours, again your time. Things are going like clockwork."

"Did you say tanker? What tanker? There aren't any available to support the 288^th."

"C-Flight is participating in a refueling test with the MDAC's new KC-10. Each bird will get six to seven thousand pounds just west of the Mississippi, on their way to Nellis."

"How in the hell did you arrange that? You did say the KC-10, right?"

"Yes, General. Two test aircraft are available to support our deployment, at no charge to ACC, I'm pleased to say. Nate Simmons called in some markers and MDAC was anxious to support us."

"Well, I'll be damned. You son-of-a-gun. I don't know how you pulled this off, but I gotta hand it to you. Does Nellis know your birds are enroute?"

"No, General. I was waiting until I heard that the birds actually got refueled before calling them."

"Well, I'd better give General Wilson a heads up. I'm going to call him now, but you'd better follow up with their Command Post after you've got confirmation of the refueling and a better ETA. You sneaky son of a gun."

"I took Colonel Briggs literally, sir. He told me to press on with this evacuation and use my own judgement."

"Okay, Tom. No sweat. I'm kinda proud of you. You showed me that you could turn the outfit around, as I see from the scores on that little competition. You may have jumped the gun a bit on the Nellis trip, but that's okay with me. Just keep me posted."

"Yes, sir. Will do." And then Tom put down the phone, just now realizing how exhausted he was. And the storm was yet to come. He fell asleep with his head on the desk, not to awaken until 11:15 AM, when Ned shook him.

Chapter 16

"Hey, boss … wake up." Ned urged as he gently shook Tom's shoulder. "The storm's getting closer. Time to get outa here. C'mon over to the simulator building."

"Huh? What time is it?"

"It's 1115, sir. You fell asleep at 0830 or so, I'd guess. And here, here are your car keys. Nate had his guys bring your car back from the C-141 pilot after they took off. It's parked

in the ground power shop, out of the storm."

The winds outside rattled the building, the windows and threatened to peel off some of the metal roofing. Debris flew by the front of the doorway, as the two men headed across the street to the sturdy concrete-block simulator facility. It wasn't raining hard, yet, but that would soon change.

Tom asked, "Did Nate and his troops secure their buildings and equipment?"

"Yes, sir. I just came back from maintenance and they've got things under control. Nate headed for home to help his wife and to make sure she's safe. He left about 20 minutes ago. I'm thinking about doing the same, after we get word that our birds are all safely on the ground."

"Did the Base Commander order dependent evacuations?"

"No. The weather guys say that it won't get that bad. Last I heard the winds were under 60 miles per hour, and there's no report of a storm surge on the coast."

The two got to the simulator building just ahead of a blowing pile of tree branches and other debris, getting the door closed before that stuff came inside with them. On looking around, they noted that there were about 50 people inside already, most in the classrooms and others just wandering around.

Tom observed that many people were in the few rooms that had windows, not a good place to be if larger debris came crashing against the building. Sergeant Gray came down the hall, greeting the two officers by saying, "There's coffee and some donuts in the briefing room, sirs. Help yourself."

"Thanks, Sarge," responded Tom, who added, "Let's move those portable blackboards over in front of the windows, just in case. I don't want these people getting hurt if that glass breaks."

"Yes, sir. I'll get right on it," and he turned to get a couple airmen to help.

No sooner had that been done, when a sign board or other piece of plywood slammed into the side of the building, just to the left of a window frame. It didn't break any glass, but it sure was scary when folks heard the sound. Instinctively, some ducked under classroom tables.

An airman came down the hall looking for Tom, furtively poking his headed into one classroom after another. When he found him, he said, "You've got a phone call, Colonel. You can take it in Sergeant Gray's office, if you like." Tom thanked the fellow and headed for the phone.

"Colonel Anderson?" inquired the caller.

"Yes, this is Anderson."

"This is Mike Campbell from MDAC, St Louis. Just thought you'd like to know that your boys all got their gas and were last seen heading west for Las Vegas, sir."

"Great. That's great. I can't tell you how much we appreciate your help. I'll pass the word along. Please tell Jack that you guys are life savers. You done good."

"Glad to help, Colonel. Has the hurricane hit you yet?"

"It's almost here. Winds are howling and I see that the rains have started coming down furiously, in sheets. Trash and debris is flying everywhere. Sure am glad to get my birds out of here."

"Good luck, sir. And, oh yes, Jack told me to say he'd make the KC-10's available when it's time to bring your crews back to South Carolina. You have any support people at Nellis who'll be wanting a ride back?"

"As a matter of fact I do. You mean you could pick them up too? That would be great."

"Yes. That's what Jack suggested. Just give us a call when it's time and we'll work something out. Our number two airplane will be at Edwards next week and there's no reason it couldn't stop off at Nellis to pick up your guys. They could also bring back up to 15,000 pounds of equipment too, if there's a forklift available to help load it."

"I'll be in touch, Mike. That's first class service. Talk to you later."

Tom put his finger on the button to hang up and then quickly dialed General Harrison's office at Langley.

"He's out of the office just now, Colonel," Lucy reported. "May I take a message?" Tom replied that he wanted to pass along the news that the eight RF-4's all got their fuel and were on their way to Nevada, on schedule. Lucy said she's let him know as soon as he returned to the office. Then Tom added, "We owe those MDAC guys a big thank you for this support."

The brunt of the storm hit shortly after 1300 hours. According to the base weather station, peak winds reached 65 knots with gusts to 75. Over three inches of rain fell in just a few hours. But almost as fast as it came, the storm passed and winds abated. By dinnertime it was pretty much over and slowly, tentatively people went out to see what damage the storm had done.

Tom walked over to the ground power shop to retrieve his car, observing along the way that, aside from debris piled up against buildings and fences, not a whole lot was amiss. A sergeant in the large metal building which housed the power carts, electrical, hydraulic and high pressure air support equipment, helped open the sliding hangar-like doors. As the clouds cleared the sun seemed extraordinarily brilliant and a gorgeous sunset seemed likely.

Tom drove around the squadron area, looking for signs of damage and problems which might impact return to normal operations. A military police vehicle pulled up along side and the driver told Tom that base-wide there was little damage.

"Yes, sir, Colonel. We were might lucky. The only damage reported was to that portable control tower alongside the runway," he said, pointing toward the runway. "Winds musta picked up one of those runway distance markers and flung it clean through the tower. The windows are gone and the roof is nowhere to be found."

"Yes. I agree. We were lucky. I'm going to drive out to see what happened to our portable tower. We just recently got it back in commission. And you say it's trashed?"

"Yes, sir. I sure wouldn't want to be working there when the storm hit. I'da been killed for sure. Have a nice evening, sir."

Tom waved to the guard as he headed for the dirt road leading along the parallel taxiway and then to the trailer-mounted portable control tower. Just as the guard reported, the whole top of the structure was gone, as were all the windows.

Parking next to the damaged trailer, Tom got out and took a look inside. There was not much left of the place, and about four inches of water stood on the floor, much of it spilling t0o the ground as Tom opened the door. Radios, lights, papers and other gear were all drenched and probably beyond salvaging. "Well, we aren't going to use this for a while, he muttered. But at least no one was hurt. We can rebuild it. We've got top rebuild it to support the transition of the Reserve pilots."

Back at the squadron, Tom stopped by his office. There wasn't a soul there and it seemed unusually quiet and dark.

Just as he sat at his desk, a telephone rang, the light on the multi-line unit flashing. Tom picked up the phone.

"Tom? It's me, Jenny. Are you all right? I've been trying to call you for over an hour."

"Yes, hon. We survived. It wasn't all that bad. Damage is minimal. In fact, the weather is nice here now."

"The weatherman says we'll get the edge of the storm here in Virginia tonight. I think the folks on the eastern shore will probably get it worse."

"Be careful, sweetheart. Don't go out unless it's absolutely necessary. So how are you doing?"

"Well, I was worried sick about you. The TV weather showed that your area got it pretty bad. Did you send your airplanes away?"

"Yes. Most of 'em went to Little Rock. They should start returning tomorrow or the next day. And some birds went out to Las Vegas, the guys who won our little competition. They're probably hitting the casinos as we speak. They won't head back here until next week, Monday or Tuesday."

"When do you think you can come home, Tom. Can you get away for a weekend?"

"That's hard to say, hon. First I've got to get things back to normal here, airplanes, crews and all. And then we have to get the transition program back in gear to upgrade those Reserve crews. I don't think I can get away for at least two weeks, but you're welcome down here anytime, you know. Why don't you plan on doing that?"

"The next break I see at work will be around Labor Day. I might be able to join you for a long weekend. I'll let you know."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll see about reserving the guest house for that weekend, say for Thursday through Monday. How's that?"

"Okay. Let's plan on that. I'll phone you if there's any reason why I can't. Miss you."

"I miss you too, hon. Take care. Okay? And don't go out until the storm passes, please. Goodnight, sweetheart."

Next Tom placed a call to the Command Post at Nellis, to check on his crews. They all arrived safely. Major Novacks had already checked in and said that they planned on returning Tuesday, departing Nellis at 0800 hours. The duty officer gave Tom the name of the hotel where the crews were staying.

And finally, before calling it a day, Tom decided to call the Little Rock command post. They told him that his crews were all accounted for, but the duty officer had no idea what the schedule for returning to Simpson was. "Thanks, Captain. Please leave a message for any of my flight leaders to call me in the morning."

There didn't seem to be much more that Tom could do now. He decided to head for his VOQ room and clean up. And then he realized that he hadn't had a good meal for hours. He turned out the office lights and headed for the door, convinced now that a hot shower and then supper would be just the ticket.

It was a little after 7:00 PM when Tom arrived at the Officers Club for dinner. On passing by the bar, he noted that some of the Reserve officers were having drinks. He stopped by to say hello and planned to next head for the dining room.

"Colonel Anderson," called a couple of the reservists. "Come on over and have a drink with us, sir. That is if regular officers don't mind slumming with weekend warriors." The tone of the remark clearly hinted at the rivalry and resentment which some reservists felt toward regulars, regular Air Force officers who were said to look down their noses at mere reservists.

"Sure, fellows. What are you drinking?"

"Have a brew, Colonel. We're celebrating the fact that we survived the hurricane, and the fact that we start out transition next week. Gotta show you regulars that we've got the right stuff too."

Tom could see that these fellows were just letting off steam, and some frustration about the slow pace of getting checked out in the RF-4. There were four pilots and two navigators gathered at the bar, all captains and lieutenants.

"Well, fellows, I have some good news and some bad for you. The bad news is that our airplanes won't be back until Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. You know, I'm sure, that we evacuated everything flyable."

"Yes, we heard, Colonel. So what's the good news?"

"The good news, gentlemen, is that the simulator will be available around the clock all of next week. You can continue your transition work without interruption and be set to fly when the airplanes return and are turned around."

Tom's mention of the simulator didn't spark a whole lot of enthusiasm from the group, one way or another. It wasn't what they wanted to hear, but they accepted the reality of the process required to get into the airplane.

"Thanks for the beer, fellows. Please excuse me, but I've got to get something to eat. It's been since breakfast that I has anything by a few donuts and coffee. I need a real meal. You care to join me in the dining room?"

None accepted Tom's invitation. They decided instead that the bar offered all they wanted, for now. So Tom headed for the dining room and a quiet table off by himself.